


Mafia Z

by g33kg1rl



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alien Biology, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Boys In Love, Denial of Feelings, Dragon Ball Z AU, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Male Slash, Mildly Dubious Consent, One-Sided Attraction, Piccolo not allowing himself to have nice things, Poor Nail, Prohibition, Sexual Content, Sexual Realization, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, mafia, servitude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 65,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kg1rl/pseuds/g33kg1rl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: In a world of mob bosses, underground crime rings, and prohibition, Son Gohan lives a uniquely happy life with his father, Goku and his mother Chi-Chi - happy, until the day Don Vegeta calls upon his father for a job, and everything goes horribly wrong and he's taken hostage by a rival Family.  Piccolo/Gohan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball or Dragon Ball Z - I don't own the Mafia - I don't own Nameks or Saiyans - and that makes me kinda sad. OH well! I hope you enjoy :D
> 
> Warnings: This story is centered around Piccolo/Gohan.

~~~~~Prelude~~~~~

 

“You know what this will mean, don’t you? You’ll be on their list. You, your wife, and your kids…no one will be safe.”  

He swallowed hard, staring at the paper sitting in front of him, unable to look at the man across the table from him. The darkness that hung in the rafters of the old fishery creaked and left silver cobwebs fluttering across newspaper taped windows. “But you promised us protection?”

“You’ll get it. Just keep a low profile. I got my men coming at the end of the week to pick you and your family up. But I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into. We need your testimony, but it’ll cost you – you’ll have to move. You’ll have to change your names, never speak to anyone you know again. No letters to your dear old mom or that brother of yours. Especially him. If you want out, you are going to have to do it and be dead to them.” 

He shifted in his seat, looking up finally at the man across the table. The man wore a pinstriped suit and he crossed his arms over his broad chest, all three of his eyes peering out from under his hat, the brim shadowing his face. The two agents behind him kept guard, peeking out through holes in the newspapers to make certain they weren’t noticed. Tugging at his collar and wishing he hadn’t gotten dressed up for this, he nodded and took the pen in hand, his heart hammering. “I know; and they’ll understand. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Then sign the papers.”

Squaring his shoulders, he nodded, firm and resolute and with a quick hiss of the pen upon paper, Son Goku signed his agreement with the Feds to try and put an end to the Saiyan Mafia family once and for all.

It was the right thing to do.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life before...

~~~~~ **1** ~~~~~

 

They moved swiftly, darting through the shadows of the city like ghosts; nothing more than darkness and death whispering behind the footsteps of their victim. Cymbal raised his hand and Piccolo stopped, his antennae twitching as he sensed the area, feeling out for the life forces of those around him.

There was no one else. Just the man and themselves.

He swallowed hard, glancing up at the Enforcer next to him. Piccolo gripped the wood handles of his weapon, holding tight to either end and feeling the butterflies within his belly threaten to crawl up and out of his throat. Their father had insisted it was time. After three years of shadowing his half brother on missions, their father, Don Piccolo Daimao, insisted he graduate and take the next step.

The man staggered and laughed. The alcohol rolling off him in waves and Piccolo wrinkled his nose at the smell. The nerves didn’t leave, but his confidence returned. The man before them was a waste of water and air. No wonder Father was tired of his clumsy and useless space.

“Now.” The half-namekian whispered and Piccolo stepped out, his movements fast and strong for a boy no more than twelve, and Piccolo leapt upon him, his piano wire garrote slipping over the man’s head and with a twist of his arms and a shove of his knee against the man’s back, the sickening slide of wire into flesh gargled the man’s speech. He flailed, clawing at his neck and Piccolo snarled, barring his fangs and pulling back on the wire all the harder. The man struggled and writhed under him with wet noises foaming from his mouth. His nails ripped against the wire and his fingers grew bloody; but his movements slowed and till they grew still.

Piccolo controlled his fall, easing him to the pavement without lessening his hold and after a minute, and without a twitch from the man’s body, Piccolo finally relaxed and unwound the wire from his head. He wiped at his brow panting, his heart raced wildly with adrenaline. 

The unmoving body at his feet was odd. Piccolo had seen plenty of dead men before; he had joined Cymbal on his missions for the last three years, learning what it took to be an Enforcer and a future Don.  He had never stared at a dead man before knowing his hand ended their miserable life.

Scowling, Piccolo turned to Cymbal and tossed the bloody garrote at him and bent down to wipe his hands clean upon the man’s overcoat. “This was too good for the thief and liar.”

Cymbal narrowed his eyes, pocketing the wire. “You did your father proud. The Don will be pleased.”

Piccolo shrugged, but a spike of pleasure flared in his chest. His father would be proud of him for this. He fought the smile and folded his arms instead, glaring at the dead man. “We should go.”

They left , moving just as silent and quick as they had before, leaving the scene behind, escaping into the shadows and back home where Don Piccolo Daimao kissed his son upon the cheeks and toasted his success and reminded all that Piccolo Jr. was his heir and would be just as powerful as himself. The praise filled Piccolo with pride and determination. He would prove to his father he was the best. In fact, he would become the best Enforcer in all of his father’s family. He would prove he could not only lead this family, but enforce it as well.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Gohan peeked around the corner of the hallway from his room, watching his mother and father whisper to one another in the parlor. He couldn’t hear them, but mother was crying even though she had that look on her face that said she wasn’t going to give up.

His father bowed his head, his shoulders falling and his mother finally smiled, sad and wet, and she leaned toward him, sliding her arms about his broad shoulders and pulled him in close to her. She ran her fingers through his hair and he gripped at her shoulder, hiding himself against the crook of her neck.

“It’ll be okay.” She said loud enough for Gohan to hear. He frowned and turned, sneaking back into his room with his tail between his legs and carefully shut the door. He glanced at his school books, knowing he should really finish his homework otherwise his mother was going to scold him for his slackness; but if he sat down to work, he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus.

Instead, Gohan pulled his burnt orange colored tweed jacket on and opened his bedroom window, slipping outside into the crisp evening air. The sun still hung low; maybe only half an hour till seven; and the slowly encroaching autumn air remained relatively warm due to its rays. It was just warm enough to be comfortable and just crisp enough to clear his head, and Gohan sighed in relief. What would make mother cry and make his father look so sad? His father was never sad. People called him Smiley because he was always grinning. Even when that small scary guy came around, Mr. Vegi-something, his father never failed to smile and laugh and make the other man angry at him, even as he offered his father a job working for him; but father always refused with that same, happy smile.

Gohan squatted down, cupping his face in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees and watched the sunset. His tail wove slowly back and forth through the air. It bugged him and he didn’t like feeling like this. Maybe if he just asked them? He was getting older and father was right, he needed to grow up. If he could help them somehow, he would feel so much better.

“Gohan!”

He jerked his head up and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see his mother rush to the window and exhale loudly as she spotted him. His father nearly tripped out the front door as he burst out onto the porch and he did the same thing, sighing in relief and visibly deflated once he saw him. His father’s tail was puffed up too. Gohan didn’t think he had ever seen it that way before.

“I’m sorry, mother, I was just thinking. It got stuffy in my room.” He stood and wandered over to the window, his fingers tugging and digging at the hem of his jacket, nervously looking from his mother to his father. “I just….” He paused and swallowed, “I was just wondering what you were talking about.” He frowned, dropping his head in shame. Eavesdropping – no good boy did that sort of thing. He half expected his mother to scold him. “It seems like it’s bad and…and I want to help.”

His mother pulled back, her hand to her heart and his father pushed his hands into his pockets, his suspenders glaring and orange against his white shirt.

“Gohan-“

“Chichi, Gohan and I are going to the market before it closes. Do you need us to pick up anything?” his father interrupted and Gohan frowned, peeking back up at his parents.

Her fingers curled in her blouse but she shook her head, blinking her eyes quickly. “No…just hurry back.” She whispered, hoarse and shaky, and she shut the window.

Slapping his hand down upon his shoulder, his father turned him and they headed for the road, their shoes kicking up gravel. His father’s hands were so large. Gohan wondered if he would grow to be as tall as him one day. He thought he would like that. He wanted to keep everyone he loved safe just like his father made him feel safe.

“Gohan, you know what I do for a living, right?”

Gohan nodded slowly. “I…I think so.”

“Can you tell me what you think it is?” He asked, turning to look at his son and Gohan’s insides clenched. His father looked so – ashamed.

“Well, you are a boxer. You train hard and if you win, you get to bring home prize money.” he wasn’t sure of himself anymore.

Smiling – though it didn’t reach his eyes – his father nodded. “I am a prize fighter, yes; but I don’t always fight in legitimate ring fights.” He frowned. “I…I do a lot of underground fights, Gohan. Your uncle Radditz, he…” He winced and he stopped, staring down at Gohan.

“Father?”

“When your uncle Radditz and I were younger, we…we joined up with the Saiyan Mafia family. We had a cousin at the time whose family had been with them for generations and we thought that it would be the only way we could live. Back then, it was really hard for saiyans to get jobs, and I had just met your mother and I just wanted to give our family the life I never did and...” he licked his lips and Gohan felt his lower lip trembling. He didn’t know why he was so upset. But he was and he felt tears gathering at the corner of his eyes even as he hung on his father’s every word.

“Your Grandpa taught Radditz and me to fight, you know? And I loved it. I was really good at it too. I thought maybe if I joined too, the Saiyan Mafia could get me into the big prize money rings and I could start a career. But-“he rubbed at the back of his head. “But the underground games paid more and I got to keep more of the cash. It seemed like a good deal.”

His father became quiet and Gohan rubbed at his eyes, biting his lower lip to keep himself from making any noise. His nose clogged, his head hurt, and tears ran hot over his cold cheeks and Gohan couldn’t move. He just couldn’t. This wasn’t what he thought his father did.

“A few years back, Mr. Vegeta came to me and said he had a job for me, and he would pay me himself. I just had to…” He swallowed hard, “I just had to beat someone up. Tell them to not be late on their payments again, and then I could leave. Radditz came with me and I did my job. I, I beat up the guy with his family watching and…it wasn’t what Vegeta said it would be. After I finished my part, Radditz cut the man’s fingers off.” He winced and Gohan watched tears gather in his father’s eyes and it made everything worse. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I would have stopped him.”

Gohan hiccupped against his will and his father flinched but as he wiped his eyes and looked down at him, Gohan didn’t care. He was actually kind of happy his father was feeling guilty.

“I’m sorry…I told Vegeta I wouldn’t do it anymore but he…he makes me do it sometimes. I have to if I want to keep you and your mother safe. But last year, I watched Mr. Nappa kill someone because that was what his orders were, and I had enough. I told the police and they got the Feds involved. They made me a deal, Gohan. They said they would keep us all safe if I testified against the Saiyan Mafia in court. With what I saw, I can at least put away some of the big guys.” He bowed his head and Gohan wiped his nose on his jacket, making a ragged sound in the back of his throat.

His father wasn’t a prize fighting athlete. He was something he didn’t even know what to call. He didn’t know what to think anymore. His father had always been his hero and now? Now he was just like any other guy on the street willing to do anything for money.

Father’s hand landed on his shoulder again and Gohan hiccupped, suddenly hating those large hands. The same hands used to hurt people.

“Come on, let’s go home.” He whispered and turned Gohan around, walking back in silence.

It didn’t last long though. Just as they came within sight of the front porch, a pair of runners raced toward them, panting as they stopped in front of Goku.

“Boss wants to see you.” The one on the left panted, lifting a hand to push his hat back onto his head. “Gots something for you that is real important.”

“No.” Goku said and pushed past them and Gohan felt his fingers tighten on his shoulder. He glanced over at the two men; the one on the right scowling.

“No ain’t going to work tonight, Mr. Son. Boss said you have to work late tonight or you know what will happen.”

He stiffed and Gohan grabbed his father’s shirt, tears racing down his cheeks and he didn’t care if the other men thought him a baby. He didn’t want his father to go. He knew now what this would mean and he didn’t want it to end up like this. “Father…”

Patting him on the back, Goku bent down to look Gohan in the face, his smile fake. “Now now, you run along and tell your mother I’ll be working late. Maybe she’ll be able to buy that material for a new dress now. I’ll be home soon. You be good for your mother, son.”

Gohan pushed against him and turned, running from him, his lungs gasping for air. He scrambled up the steps of his home and he jerked the door open, slamming it shut behind him and he didn’t stop till he fell into his mother’s arms, crying against her apron.

“Oh, Gohan.” She whispered and hugged him tight, carding her fingers through his hair. “It’ll be all right soon enough.” She soothed and he wished he could believe her.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one more job....

~~~~~ **2** ~~~~~

 

Goku scrubbed at his hands, shaking and panting, Chichi knocking on the door as quietly as possible so she wouldn’t wake up Gohan – but he could hear the desperation in her whispers as she hissed through the door.

_Radditz had explained the job – a grocery owner; who also owned a speak-easy behind his wares; had refused to pay because he claimed he now was under the Namekian Mafia Family’s protection. The bar made good money and Don Vegeta refused to let it go without a fight._

_What Radditz had failed to anticipate was a sudden burst of the Namekian Family arriving in the bar to celebrate. Voices rose from the front room and Goku paused in his beating of the owner, staring at the door as the shadowy outlines of tall men with antennae walked past. Radditz hissed and they instantly went on alert, looking for a way out other than through the only door that led into the middle of a crowd of their rivals._

_“Naaaaail! Get the owner. He has the good shit behind the counter.” A voice drawled like a bullhorn._

_“Yes, Guru.” And a second later the doorknob turned and revealed a very young namekian standing in the doorway. He was no more than fifteen or sixteen and he gasped, eyes wide at the sight in front of him._

_Goku raised his hand to his lips but Radditz snarled and lunged, missing the boy as he ducked instinctively away._

_The grocery front went silent, the door to the speakeasy halfway open and every pair of namekian eyes were locked on Radditz and Goku; and all hell broke loose._

Wincing and shaking his head, the soap slipped from his hands and Goku chased after it, gasping as he curled his fingers around it and it actually molded to the shape of his fist. He flung the soap away and he stumbled backward, leaning against the little table his wife used for all her powders and perfumes.

There had been so much fighting. He had held his own, no one namekian getting the best of him – not till the older man. He had come out of nowhere, hit him hard in the side.

_Piccolo Daimao stabbed him in the shoulder and Goku screamed, grabbing his shoulder and stumbling backward. The namekian grinned, a wicked thing emphasized only by his angular and gaunt face. He knew who he was, and he now knew why the whispers on the street called the man the Demon King. He practically radiated pure evil. He was the Don of the Namekian Mafia Family, and he certainly deserved the title._

_The knife glimmered in the light and bottles broke behind Goku. Flour burst in the air and filled his nose with the dry smell. Shouts raged all around as Radditz fought back just as hard. Then Don Piccolo Daimao rushed him and he fought back, desperate and yet finding himself actually enjoying the challenge. They pushed one another, each gaining the upper hand at least a dozen times, both scouring countless blows and then pushing themselves to fight even harder._

Goku ran his hand down his face and shook, jerking his hand from his face to look at his hands, at the purple stains upon his skin and the ugly dried bits under his nails.

_He had heard gunfire and Radditz’s scream. Goku turned, just long enough to see his brother shot and falling, a hole in his chest where his heart should have been with a namekian child standing over him with a rifle in hand._

_The Don hit him across the head and he felt blood rush over his left eye, and before he realized what he had done, Goku stared wide eyed at the gagging man, his mouth moving uselessly as purple blood dripped from his lips and Goku jerked his hands away from the knife he had forced through the namek’s chest and through his heart._

“Goku, please.” Chichi begged and Goku opened the door, wishing he hadn’t but it was too late.

Chichi studied him first before she gently took his hands in hers and led him to the bathtub where she ran him a bath. She held him as he sank to his knees and gripped her tightly about the waist. He didn’t cry, but he trembled and he hid against her, seeing the flashes of pain and heat and power fly through his mind. His face buried against her stomach and he gripped at her dress, grinding his teeth with a little shake of his head.

Here he was, just four days away from safety; from escaping this life; and he had done the one thing he thought he was going to be able to escape unscathed. He hadn’t killed anyone before; he hadn’t wanted too nor needed too; but this - this hadn’t even been ordered and it made it so much worse.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking upon himself the title of Don...

~~~~~3~~~~~

 

Piccolo stared, jaw tight, claws biting into the palms of his hands as his father’s body was moved, carried quickly out of the grocer’s store and into the back seat of a Ford. He wouldn’t look away. He studied everything; the way his father’s eyes refused to close completely, the glassy look to them, the white film discoloring his red irises. He stared at the knife in his father’s chest, still outlining faintly the hand of the man who had shoved it through his chest. Piccolo growled, lips curling back to flash his fangs.

“Piccolo-“

He snarled and the slightly older boy raised a brow, seeming unfazed when facing his anger. Nail. It was Nail.

Piccolo knew him. He knew him. Nail was one of his closest friends. He went to school with him. He trained with him in the morning. Nail was very loyal.

It took him several minutes to relax but when he did, Nail stepped forward and placed his hand upon his shoulder and Piccolo stared more at Nail’s chest then anywhere else.

“Father is dead.” He said and somehow it left bile on his tongue.

Nail pulled him away quickly from the crowds, leading him through a backdoor and out into the alley where Piccolo was able to throw up his water behind some garbage cans. Nail stood guard, staring at the opening to the alley, arms folded, head held high and Piccolo momentarily hated him. He could remain calm and stoic while he was here wasting water over his father. His father would have struck him for his weakness.

Wiping his mouth and stumbling as his head spun, Piccolo took a moment to breathe, swallowing thickly around his raw throat.

“Guru wants to talk to you.” Nail said suddenly, still staring only at the opening of the alley.

“I don’t want to speak to my uncle.” Piccolo spat on the ground before leaning his head back against the wall.

Nail glanced over his shoulder and Piccolo narrowed his eyes, the corner of his lip twitching in a threatening way.

“Guru said you are going to hear him whether you like it or not.”

He growled but winced nonetheless. Guru never kid around. “Can’t it wait.”

“No.” Nail sighed and he genuinely sounded grieved. “Unfortunately, no. With this tragic turn of events, Guru believes we have to move swiftly or face an uprising within the ranks.” Nail turned completely toward him, his open vest cut far too long to accommodate his lanky body. “It’s no secret your father’s bastard child, Cymbal, has openly voiced his displeasure with his father’s logic in his choice of heir. He may be a bastard, but he was his first born nonetheless.”

Piccolo looked away, his stomach roiling again but he forced the feeling away and pushed back from the wall. “What does Guru want?”

“Come.” Nail waved his hand to the end of the alley where a car sat waiting. He didn’t remember it parked there when they had first come out.

He narrowed his eyes, studying Nail. Nail he trusted, Guru, never. “I’m not going anywhere without my men to accompany me.”

“You have me.” Nail pushed his shoulders back, daring him.

Piccolo pursed his lips, straightening up and marching right up to Nail, staring up at the older boy and pushing into his space. “You would go against your own father to protect me?”

“You are my Don. I would protect you with my life.” Nail hissed back and pushed right back into Piccolo, their chests separated by only their clothing. “And with my life, I serve you – and that may mean gathering information if need be to serve my Don.”

Piccolo considered Nail, staring into his dark eyes. With a slight nod, Piccolo took a step back and waved his hand, motioning Nail to lead the way.

The ride back to the family home went by in a blur. He kept seeing it, the man in the grocery store, fighting his father and getting beaten down time after time and yet always rising up. Then he saw him, stopping his father’s hand that held a knife. With a twist that hadn’t seemed possible, the man had wrenched his father's wrist, took the weapon, and shoved his father’s own knife into his chest. He saw it, he could still hear the sound of the knife slicing through the fabric, the hollow gasp of air his father took. No wild scream, no groan of pain, just a silent and surprised gasp.

“Piccolo.”

He jerked his eyes from the window and stared at Nail, standing next to his door, waiting for him patiently.

Piccolo fumbled with the handle and jumped from the car, striding long and fast up the walk and he took the porch stairs two at a time. He wanted to get this over with.

Nail ran after him, catching up in time to open the door for him and lead him through Guru’s personal villa within the Namekian Family’s compound. Off to the right and through an elegant archway, Piccolo found his uncle, sitting in his overstuffed chair before the fire, staring into the flames with heavy frown and lines and age streaking his face. At nearly sixty, his uncle looked it and yet he still fathered children like a stud in the field. Nail was only his twenty-sixth child. Legitimate child anyway. Dende, his youngest child, made the legitimate count reach at least forty-two.

He stopped hard, swallowing against the lump that suddenly rose in his throat.

“Naaaaail. Please leave us, I must speak to my nephew alone.” His voice drawled.

Nail bowed weakly and paused only long enough to give Piccolo a look before he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Piccolo folded his arms, pushing his shoulders back and narrowing is eyes. His uncle was brash but shrewd. He was not one to underestimate, even with his enormous size.

Struggling out of his chair, Guru waddled over to him, his frown never wavering. Piccolo wondered how honest he was being with his sympathy.

“You are now the Don of this family, Piccolo. But I fear there are conspirators within these walls that will do you harm if you take your father’s seat at such a young age.”

His lips curled back. “I am more than ready to take my father’s place, old man.”

Guru bobbed his head. “Yes, you may be strong enough, but you are not yet wise enough to lead this family.”

Piccolo growled, but the words struck home and he failed to hide the wince that flickered over his face. “Lord Slug said I was ready.” He grumbled.

Guru blinked in surprise and stared at Piccolo for a moment before his wail rose. “Oh! So he’s calling himself a Lord! That pretentious prick!” He bellowed and Piccolo flinched.

His uncle confused him – most times.

With a huff, Guru settled, once more serious. “I see you know my words are true. That is good. It means that as you grow, you will become a wise leader for our family.” He tilted his head and Piccolo stared right back, his nostrils flaring in annoyance. Nail had his father’s eyes, the same dark and cunning eyes. It annoyed him. Whereas Nail was tactful, his uncle was a total bastard. Though he would never say that to his face.

Guru huffed and turned, waddling back to his chair and taking a seat with a massive groan. “I do not want to offend you, Piccolo. I will follow my brother’s wishes and accept you as Don of this family; but you will not live long enough to become more than a flash in the pan in our family’s leadership.”

“Look here!” Piccolo shouted, stomping up to him.

Guru raised his hand and Piccolo halted, wishing he didn’t feel scared.

“You haven’t heard my proposal yet!” Guru bellowed, dragging out his chastisement as vocally as possible.

The hearth crackled and popped, the room was truly comfortable and quiet. Rich fabrics, more books than Piccolo had ever seen in one place, and pictures all around of his children, his grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Guru loomed before him, illuminated bythe fire and for a moment, Piccolo wondered what he would be like as a father. If the stories were true, his uncle had been just as terrifying an Enforcer as his own father. Yet, this man kept pictures off all his children. Even the bastard ones.

Piccolo bowed his head and Guru snorted and looked back into the fire. “My proposal is that you allow me to run the family until you come of age. You will continue your training as both a warrior and future Don of this family. You cannot accept this position as head of the family unless you are completely ready for the role. Do you agree?”

Piccolo flinched and dug his claws into the palms of his hands. He didn’t want to agree to anything this namekian said. He was everything he didn’t want to be when he grew up. Yet he was right. Just as his father always said – for being a sadistic bastard who more often than not embarrassed the family, Guru knew how to survive in this world. He was indispensible. His father’s right hand advisor. Piccolo understood why.

Guru grunted and Piccolo hissed, his antennae twitching with his annoyance. He didn’t want to tell him he was right! But it was useless hiding the truth.

Walking up to his chair and waiting for Guru to look up at him, a single brow raised, Piccolo scowled and nodded. “I agree. I am certain my father would agree as well. We had all assumed he would hand the family over to me from his deathbed, but obviously my youth is a factor. Being murdered in a grocers market certainly hadn’t been in his plans.” His teeth ground together and Guru bobbed his head.

“Good. Then are we in agreement? I will be a…a Lord overseeing the family until you come of age and are ready to take over the role of Don of the family?”

Piccolo’s brow twitched, but it was acceptable. “Yes, uncle. Though I certainly don’t trust you as far as I can throw you; you are the only one capable of running this family.”

Guru laughed then, a reedy sound that boomed at the same time. “I am the only one you can trust!” He yelled and laughed again.

Piccolo sneered and wondered how true that was.

“Naaaail!” Guru drawled, turning his head toward the door.

“Yes, Guru?”

“I am now to be known as Lord Guru!”

Nail’s brow twitched but he hid it well with a nod, “Yes, Lord Guru.”

“This is ridiculous.” Piccolo hissed.

“Naaaail!” Guru looked back to his child.

“Yes, Lord Guru?”

“Slap this impudent child across the head! He has disrespected his Lord Guru!”

Piccolo threw his hands in the air and turned, stalking away from his chair and past Nail who had the decency to look just as annoyed as he did. “Just remember!” Piccolo roared over his shoulder. “I will take back the family in a few years!”

“Do not worry.” He hummed, lolling his head from his chair. “You will claim your throne when you are grown.”

Piccolo nodded, drawing himself up to look more imposing, like a bird puffing out its feathers. “And I have my first request to the Lord Guru.”

Guru shifted, clearly surprised by this.

Pulling his lips back and exposing his fangs, Piccolo rumbled deep in his chest. “When we find the bastard who killed my father, I want to be the one who kills him.”

Raising a brow, Guru stared right back at him. Nail shifted nervously, glancing back and forth between Piccolo and his father.

A nod and a wave of his hand, Guru agreed. “Done. Make the bitch squeal.”

He smirked and bowed his head. Turning away from his uncle and cousin, he strode out of the villa and back out into the Namekian Family compound, walking the vast streets back to his home.

But as he stood outside, staring up at the large, rounded windows and the pointed spires upon the roof, studying the hollow darkness that waited inside, Piccolo felt it then, the emptiness that really did wait for him now. His father dead, his half-brother conspiring against him, his only true friend served his father, Guru, as little more than a glorified servant for his future benefit and gathering information.

He was alone. Revenge would have to keep him warm. Piccolo clenched a fist, his insides coiling. He would find that man with the boyish face and tail, he would rip out his stupid hair, dig his insides out with a spoon, and he would sew him back up just to repeat the process. No respite. The man would pay. He'd torture him and he'd delight in his agony. He'd take away his life just as he had taken away his father's; but he'd just do it slower.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day of change....

~~~~~4~~~~~

 

They knocked on his door, sharp and demanding and even Nail pursed his lips in annoyance.

Guru nodded and Nail opened the door. It had been four days since the Don's death, and Guru had successfully placed himself in a role of leadership within the Namekian Mafia family. He had only needed to kill three men. Surprisingly, Cymbal was not one of them.

"Lord Guru." They both fell to a knee and bowed their heads. Guru smirked at that. That was one thing his brother never understood, forcing acts of respect could inspired actual respect amongst the weaklings.

"You may speak. Quickly."

They hesitated, uncertain if he was serious.

"I said quickly!" He roared.

"We found him!" One shouted and bowed his head, his antennae sweeping across the floor.

"Found who? I can't read your mind!" He harrumphed.

The second namek bowed just as low, "We're sorry, Lord Guru. We meant that we found him, the man who killed your brother."

Guru sat up in his chair and twisted on the cushion. "Hmmm, this is good news." He nodded his head, looking to his son, Nail, who observed this situation with more alertness than the two namekians combined. "Hmmm, kill him."

Nail jerked as the two stood, his long vest swaying with the motion. He lifted a hand towards him, dark eyes widening. "Ah, Lord Guru, what of Don Piccolo?" He side-stepped pointedly, not allowing the other two nameks to exit the den just yet.

"What about him?" Guru shouted.

Nail dropped to a knee respectfully and he bowed his head, his hand curled into a fist as it touched the floor. “Lord Guru, you promised Don Piccolo you would allow him his revenge.”

“Well he isn’t here.” Guru raised a brow.

Nail frowned, his brow’s drawing together and Guru’s lips twitched, schooling his features. His son was horribly inadequate at keeping secrets.

“Lord Guru, let me run and tell him. It would be a grievous mistake to not keep the pact you made with our future Don.” He lifted his eyes. Guru’s brow twitched a second time, smug pride reigning supreme. Maybe his son had grown a backbone after all.

“Fine.” He drawled, his voice echoing through his lofty den. “But he must hurry. I will not tolerate tardiness!”

Nail bowed a bit lower and stood, instantly marching from the room and past the two trained Enforcers as if they were nothing more than simple maids.

Guru hummed, tapping his fingers upon his chair. He would not discourage this alliance. It was favorable and possibly profitable. He would let the boy live. For now.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

His mother set a platter of eggs and bacon upon the table, carefully dishing it out to both her husband and son, and Gohan thanked her quietly and began to eat.

“Thank you, Chichi.” His father said and took her hand, squeezing her fingers. “It looks amazing.”

She smiled back at him and patted his hand, hesitating a moment before they released the other. She took a seat and filled her own plate with her much more modest helping and then cleared her throat, her fingers resting atop her napkin.

Gohan stiffened, staring at that napkin. She wasn’t going to eat just yet. That meant something important was about to happen. “Mother?”

His father cleared his throat and Gohan reluctantly looked at him, gripping his fork tight.

Goku shifted in his seat and tugged on his collar, his tail flicking back and forth behind him. “Gohan, we…we need to tell you something.”

Gohan looked away and stared at his plate. He didn’t think he could endure any more surprises.

He waited, expecting him to look back at him again, but when Gohan refused to look away from his food, his father again coughed and continued.

“Gohan; when I told you what I…I do for the Saiyan Mafia. It…it was because I had made a deal with some very important people. They promised to help us get away from them.”

He raised his eyes slowly to look at his father, his fingers carefully setting the fork down.

Goku offered a weak smile and rubbed the tip of his nose thoughtfully. “Well, the thing is, they are coming today to get us, to take us away from The Family and we’ll be going far, far away. We have to move.” He finished in a rush.

Blinking at his parents, Gohan shifted in his seat. “So, you mean you aren’t going to…to work as a fighter anymore?”

His father smiled, “No, Gohan, not anymore. We’ll live somewhere else and I’ll work somewhere boring. We might not be able to buy you as many books-“

Chichi snorted at that and Goku laughed awkwardly, “-but I won’t be working for Mr. Vegeta anymore.” He stressed and Gohan wilted slightly. This ball of tension he didn’t even know he had been feeling released abruptly and Gohan scrubbed at his eyes, chasing off the tears in time, but unable to stop a shattered laugh.

“Gohan, honey?” his mother reached toward him from across the table.

“I’m okay, mother. I’m actually excited to move.” He grinned and then grabbed up his fork and shoveled his food into his mouth. He ate half of what he normally would for breakfast, but his stomach turned summersaults and he already knew what sort of things he wanted to pack. Leaping from the table, he placed his plate in the sink, his tail raised high and swaying behind him. Gohan paused in the doorway, just long enough to look back at his mother and father as a sense of newness washed over him. He loved them. He loved his father for doing this, doing the right thing, getting away from The Family and hurting people. He was sort of…proud of him.

“When do we leave?”

“Tonight, after dark, though the agents will be here this afternoon to prepare us for the trip.” Goku said, nodding his head. “Pack light; only bring what you need. We need to be able to move quickly.”

Gohan nodded, and the smile on his father’s face looked real, felt real, and was his all over. His father hadn’t looked this relaxed in months. Everything was going to be okay. He just knew it.

Yet as he began folding his clothes and placing them into his suitcase, Gohan couldn’t help but wish they were leaving sooner. The sooner his father didn’t have to work for the Mafia, the sooner Gohan wouldn’t feel like a black cloud was hovering over them, heavy with lightning, and just waiting to strike at any moment.

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Piccolo decided he was going to rip their arms off and beat them to death with their own limbs – and then beat them again for good measure. They left him! The Enforcers nail had informed him of had left to stake out the damn house without even leaving him an official driver to take him there. Nail went to work instantly and within minutes commandeered a car for him and they followed the directions to the little yellow house on the outskirts of town.

They drove around to the back of the house, off near the edge of the woods and just below an embankment to hide their presence from curious eyes. The wind hissed through the trees and whipped several dust flurries through the streets, gathering up leaves and bits of paper before it shattered against the cool bricks of a stone fence.

Piccolo stepped out of the car, smooth and calm. He straightened his black jacket and tie, checked his cufflinks, and Nail followed behind and to his right. Stopping beside his Enforcer’s car window, Piccolo rapped his knuckles sharply again the glass and clenched his jaw as the men jumped inside. Piccolo narrowed his eyes and cautious looks exchanged between the two men’s faces. Hesitant, they climbed out and Piccolo glared, never removing his eyes from the two nameks who had failed their Don.

“Uh, Sir…” the driver said and opened his mouth like a fish, sweat gathering along his brow.

Piccolo's fist smashed his nose in. He dropped with a curse and groan. The second Enforcer stiffened with eyes wide and he stared at Piccolo’s shoes.

Stalking around the car to the second man, Piccolo grabbed the front of his suit and shoved him backwards against the hood of the car, his nose just inches from his. “The next time you leave me behind I will not be so kind.” He dug an elbow into his ribs and the man hissed, nodding his head, antennae drooping with the pain.

“U-understood, sir!”

Piccolo backhanded him. “Don. I am your Don regardless of Guru’s current stewardship. Understood?”

“Yes, Don Piccolo.” He raised his hands to placate him.

It irked him. The namek was simply saying what he wanted to hear. He shoved him back, feeling more than seeing the much older man’s eye roll.

Piccolo turned, folded his arms over his chest and glared up at the pretty little home. “That’s where the bastard lives?” He studied the house, wondering what was going on up the path lined with flowers, past the white-washed fence, and behind those white lace curtains. So domestic and yet Piccolo couldn’t stand it. His father’s murderer lived there.

The first man came around, wiping at his bleeding nose and he bobbed his head, “Yeah. A child wearing white face paint and rosy cheeks came to the door and the guy left with him twenty or thirty minutes ago-“

“He left?” Piccolo turned on him, rage bubbling up and spilling out.

“We had no orders to stop him! J-just to wait for you!”

He grimaced and ground his teeth against that but he couldn’t punch the man again. Piccolo would have outright killed him if he had begrudged him the opportunity to fulfill his revenge. He snarled and turned sharply, storming up the embankment and to the back of the house. He heard Nail chase after him before even the Enforcers fell into place, and with a single kick to the backdoor, Piccolo burst inside, wood splintering and raining down around him from the shattered doorjamb.

He saw the woman first. Dark hair pulled back in a bun and prim and proper in her blue dress. She shouted and fell back against the countertop, eyes wide and hand pressed to her mouth. Piccolo pointed and one of his Enforcers rushed forward, backhanding her across the cheek and jerking her arms behind her back. She struggled, hissing like a wildcat.

Piccolo ignored her in favor of focusing on the boy. A boy who looked the mirror image of the man who he witnessed stabbing his father. If nothing more, the son confirmed that his men had found the correct Sayian.

“Gohan! Let me go! Run, Gohan!” She screamed and kicked, ramming her heel into the foot of the namek behind her. The second Enforcer stepped in front of her and slapped her face, her lip splitting and cheek swelling.

 “Mother!” His shout rang through the house and he made for her, his face ashen and eyes wide.

 A quick step to the side, Piccolo moved in front of him and punched him, sending the boy sprawling backwards. He leapt atop him, straddling his chest and he punched the boy again and again. He did not care where he struck the boy – arm, face, chest, shoulders. Piccolo’s lips curled back and he snarled like a beast, punching and punching and punching, unseeing of anything but the face that matched that of the man who killed his father.

“Gohan!” the woman screamed behind him, screaming and sobbing uncontrollably, her voice rising in pitch until she abruptly stopped and he felt a quiver as her body hit the floor.

“-on-“the noises of the world around him trembled, fading in and out.

“Pic-“his fist made half-contact with the boy’s eye.

"Do-" he slip his lip.

“-n Piccolo!”

He jerked back, panting hard and practically quivering in place.

Nail took his arms, holding him still and Piccolo rolled his shoulder, pushing him off but only half heartedly. He stared at the boy; still curled up beneath him, face covered with his arms, and bits of red smears decorated his crisp white shirt.

“Don Piccolo.” Nail hissed in his ear and Piccolo jerked a second time, leaning back further and sitting on the boy’s belly.

“What do you want us to do?” Nail asked, glancing over, leading Piccolo’s gaze to the unconscious woman. Just as bloodied as the boy’s face was, her hair had come undone and she looked so frail suddenly, much younger than before with her hair up. He looked back to the boy under him, opening his mouth, still breathing hard.

“Sir?”

“Send a message to him. Kill th-“

“Please…” the boy croaked, his arms spreading away from his face, his features contorting into pain.

Piccolo sniffed, lifting his chin to glare down at the boy. A boy he realized was only a few years younger than him; atleast, he thought so. Humans and saiyans aged so slowly compared to nameks.

“Please, don’t hurt my mother.” His lower lip trembled and blood slid down his chin.

Piccolo raised his hand, preparing to strike him, but he hesitated. He couldn’t take his eyes off the boy. Large brown eyes never looked away from him, never flickered with fear or hatred, or selfish desires. The boy stared at him, pleading, yes, but with tears gathering in his eyes as he spoke the word ‘mother.’

“Please don’t hurt mother. I’ll take the punishment. Just let her go.” The tears slipped down his cheeks, running through the blood and staining his collar a saturated pink.

He wrapped his fingers around the boy’s warm neck, slowly applying pressure – not enough to crush his windpipe, but enough to close it off. Piccolo’s heart raced, his nails digging into the young flesh.

“Take me, not her.”

What was wrong with this boy? Who begged to die for another?

“Sir? The woman?” One of the Enforcers questioned behind him and he saw from the corner of his eye the namek lift her head up by her hair.

The boy’s legs kicked out only once, his mouth working as his air slowly closed off and his face grew red. His hands settled over his, small and gentle. They rested there and nothing more – his nails never dug into his flesh to claw at his knuckles in a wild attempt to free himself. No desperate thrashing about, no last strangled wheezes in a sad mockery of a scream as he bucked against his killer. The boy simply stared, first at his mother’s unconscious form and then back to him; making him promise. Those brown eyes never looked away till they rolled back in his head, lips a discolored purple against his paling skin.

Jerking his hands away and slapping the boy, the child gagged and shuttered, his lungs filling with air and his hands clung to Piccolo’s shirt sleeves.

“Leave her. She’ll bare witness to our vengeance. Her husband will know why we came; and if he wants his son back, he’ll find us.”

Nail jerked his hands back, and Piccolo turned, narrowing his eyes at the young man’s surprised look. “Sir….”

“The children are the future, are they not? What better way to break a man than by taking away his hopes and dreams?” He stood then, pointing to the boy fading in and out of consciousness. “Bring him. He’s mine now.”

“Yes, Don Piccolo.” Nail bowed his head, clearly unnerved.

Piccolo agreed, he was unnerved as well. He had never seen such a thing done in all his years of apprenticing with the Enforcers. His father had never done such a thing. But the boy’s eyes, so wide and honest, had complete faith in him. A child he did not know trusted him to keep a promise. Piccolo stared at the boy as Nail gathered him up in his arms and carried him from the house and back out to the cars.

Inhaling deeply, Piccolo turned and knelt by the woman, taking her hair from his Enforcer and he turned her to face him, studying her face for a moment before one of his men wasted water and splashed it across her face. She gasped and coughed, shaking where she lay prone.

“Listen woman.” He gave her head a little shake, forcing her eyes to open and stare at him unfocused. “Your husband killed one of our own this week. I originally was planning to kill him. An eye for an eye. But I have chosen to take his son's life instead.” He leaned down, baring his fangs. “He took from me someone I loved, so I’ll take from him someone he loved.” He snarled, “He’ll bleed pretty, I’m sure.” He vowed and shoved her away from him.

"No, Gohan...." she slurred, her hand reaching out to Piccolo.

He stood and marched from the house as the Enforcers beat the woman one last time to ensure their message would be received.

By the time Piccolo reached his car with the boy in the trunk, Nail had the car started, sitting patiently in the driver’s seat, his knuckles a pale olive green color against his grip upon the steering wheel.

The Enforcers left the house, wiping the woman’s blood from their knuckles.

Piccolo climbed into the passenger side, his stomach flipping at the idea of sitting so close to the boy – even if he was in the trunk. “Take me home.”

“Don, Sir, this isn’t wise.” Nail whispered even as he shifted the car into gear.

Piccolo stiffened, licking his lips. “It is my decision.”

“Yes, it is. But is it wise to take a child?”

“He’s older than I was when I first began working for my father.” Piccolo stared at the road ahead as Nail eased the car out into the open and back onto the road. “He is old enough to pay for the sins of the father.”

Nail’s fists squeezed the steering wheel again. “This may mean war.”

Piccolo snorted, propping his elbow up on the edge of the door. “We’ve been at war for nearly fifty years. What will change in bringing it out in the open?”

“Perhaps more than you think.”

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

The Feds swept through the house, checking every room, every nook, and under every bed. Goku dropped to his knees, his voice hoarse from the scream he let loose the moment he saw his wife. He gathered her body into his arms and cradled her head against his shoulder.

What happened? The Feds were here, just outside and waiting to take them away. Who found out?

"All clear out here." A guy called from the backdoor, his scarred face twisting with remorse as he stared at Goku.

"The bedrooms are clear, too." The small, child-looking man said, his white face grim.

Goku pushed Chichi's hair away watching her lips move slightly and her eyes flutter behind her lids. He kissed her cheeks and pulled her closer to him, practically wrapping himself around her beaten body protectively. He felt a little gasp against his neck and he gently pushed her hair from her face, cupping her cheek. "Chichi, Chichi...."

Tien, the Lead on this, gripped his gun tight, and Goku could only stare as he looked back at the scar-faced man and nodded. He instantly turned around and prowled the edge of the woods.

"Chaozu?" Tien turned and Goku's blood turned cold.

The small man moved further into the kitchen, looking first at Goku then to Tien and he shook his head subtly. Tien's jaw tightened and Goku stiffened, lifting his wife from the floor as he stood.

Tien looked away, adjusting his hat just enough so all three of his eyes were hidden by the brim. "Yamcha!" He shouted and the scarred faced man ran back up the the path, poking his head into the kitchen. "Get their bags. We're leaving."

Goku looked between all the agents, hugging his wife tighter till she gave another gasp and her fingers tightened in his shirt. "We're leaving? But..." Goku wracked his brain, the horror and confusion reeking havoc. "But...Gohan!" Goku yelled, and that hard lump of fear burst forth. No! No! They couldn't possibly have been talking about Gohan! 

He rushed from the kitchen, Chichi whispering against his neck. He pushed past Tien as the man said something that fell on deaf ears, and Goku stood in the middle of his son's room, staring at the suitcase sitting on the bed filled half with his clothing and half with books.

"Gohan!" He cried out, turning round and round, desperate to find him - and then Chichi sobbed against him and an arm wrapped about his neck. She clung to him, frail and shaking, and Goku's back met the wall, clutching her.

 

"Gohan..."

"They took him. He's gone. He said his blood-"She managed out before a wail escaped.

"What? No....No...." Goku shook his head. His hand slid into Chichi's hair and he found himself falling, sliding down along the wall, his legs numb. He hid his face against his wife's shoulder and choked back his own cry as his hot tears rolled down his cheeks. 

He didn't know how long they sat there, but Tien shook him, forcing his attention up to him and Goku stared past him, his son first and foremost on his mind. 

"We need to go. If they took the boy, there is no telling how soon they will be back for you."

Goku shook his head, his lips parting to protest, but Tien narrowed his eyes, his hand resting upon the gun at his hip. "Now."

"Gohan...." He choked. "I will not leave without him!"

Tien's lips thinned and the knowing look he gave him was lemon in a wound. Goku knew all too well. He had been an Enforcer and he knew the likelihood of Gohan surviving this. Revenge killings were perfectly normal in the Mafia Families; and children some of the easiest targets. He couldn't let Chichi identify their baby while he lay in a ditch; possibly mangled and unrecognizable; nor could he deal with the expectation that any day now his son’s hand would show up in a box on their doorstep.

 

Tien's voice dropped and Goku felt the intensity behind his words. "We'll find your son. You need to focus on protecting who you can right now. Your wife. We'll do the leg work." The man held his hand out, jaw set. "We won't leave him behind."

 

He just couldn't leave Gohan like this. What sort of father was he?

 

A whistle filled the house and the scar faced man waved his hand. "Tien."

 

He nodded and Goku recognized the nerves forming as they drew attention from neighbors and possible enemies. Tien nodded and all three eyes settled on him. "Please,Goku."

 

"I need to find him." His voice trembled. Heartbroken and so angry, he wanted to march in and demand his son back. Don Vegeta couldn't do this to him. Not now.

 

"If we find him, you can come with us on the raid, but first, we need to get you out of here."

It hurt so much, realizing he had to agree with his logic. He couldn't help Gohan, because he didn't know where he could possibly be. If he was dead....

He stood then, Chichi wrapped in his arms and sobbing. She beat against his shoulder with weak fists. Goku nodded and followed Tien to the side of the house. He settled in the back of their car, hating the way the seat squeaked as he sat down, and hating the fact the short man, Chaozu, sat next to them in the back. The place Gohan should have been. Goku bowed his head and hid his face against Chichi's shoulder and he ground his teeth together. He should have stayed at home. He shouldn’t have left.


	6. chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan meets the Nameks....

~~~~~5~~~~~

 

He was warm. Snuggled in against the pillow under his head, Gohan hummed a contented sigh. His head hurt and his throat hurt, but with the comfort surrounding him, and the relaxing smell of books, the pain behind his eyes was easy enough to ignore. Maybe after they finished moving mother would let him…

He stiffened and his fingers curled in the rough material. He sucked in a breath and remembered it all. Cracking an eye open, Gohan first saw only the flickering flames within the hearth, and slowly he focused upon the shadowy length in front of it. A shiny pair of shoes stood in front of the fire, their surface catching the dances of light in the flames. He squeezed his eyes shut, brow furrowed, but the pain in his face made him flinch and he shifted in the pile of blankets upon the floor.

“Wake up.”

He whimpered, insides twisting as he heard the same deep voice from his nightmares.

“I said wake up, son of a murderer.”

Gohan’s eyes flew open and he raised himself from the cocoon. Moving his eyes up the length of the man before him, Gohan swallowed thickly against his aching throat as he took in his captor’s considerable height.

He was namekian; so no saying what his real age was in relation to his height. Nameks aged so quickly.

The namek dropped to a knee and Gohan inhaled sharply, inching away from him. He was the namek from his kitchen. The red, smoldering eyes were something never to be unseen. His eyes dug into his skin and set his insides smoldering with that single glare, and Gohan wanted so badly to get out from under that gaze.

“My-my mother-“

“Lives.” He cut into his words, reaching for him and twisting his fingers into his hair harshly. Gohan whimpered and tears sprung to his eyes traitorously.

The namek snorted, forcing his head back further as he inched closer to him, studying him, eyes drilling his and Gohan reached up to him suddenly, cupping the smooth green cheeks within his much smaller hands and stared back, tears sliding down his cheeks. “Thank you.” It was the only thing he could think of. A man like this, Gohan knew in his gut he wouldn’t be walking away from this.  All the trouble this namekian went through to find his family, and him calling his father a murderer – obviously this was a personal vendetta. Beating him, his mother, kidnapping him, explained it all as his hair tore from his scalp and his lip began to bleed. The namek may have already arranged to sell him to some factory as child labor. More than likely, he would kill him. Yet, this man had kept his promise and he was grateful for that.

The namek jerked backwards, pulling his face from Gohan's fingers, his red eyes wide and flickering. His fingers gripped his hair all the tighter, his nose wrinkling as his lips pulled back, and he looked murderous while bordering on the edge of confusion.

Gohan stared at him and dropped his hands weakly, his lips parting – then the namek backhanded him and Gohan shouted in pain, flung backward like a doll and cracked his head upon the hardwood flooring. He curled in on himself, grabbing the bump already rising there and he shuddered, feeling the namek loom over him, straddling him like he had in his kitchen and jerking him up by the collar of his shirt.

“Don’t _ever_ touch me. Understand?”

Gohan hadn’t known people could growl like that; like a beast fresh from the wild.

“I asked you a question!” The namek shook him and Gohan cried out, tears erupting and he didn’t care. He hurt!

“Yes!”

The namek released him, standing over him. “You are to address me as Don Piccolo. Understand?”

Gohan whimpered, wishing the room would stop spinning but he nodded, swallowing hard to keep his breakfast down. “Yes.”

Piccolo growled, one of those shiny feet shoving its way past his hand and head and he dug the heel of his shoe into his fingers.

“Yes, Mr. Piccolo!” he screamed and Piccolo instantly took his foot away, leaving him to cradle the bruising fingers to his chest.

“That will do.” Piccolo grunted and turned, striding away from him swift and graceful. “Nail will be here shortly to clean you up. I expect you downstairs in an hour. I have work for you to do.” And the door clicked shut and a lock sounded on the other side.

Rolling over, he wrapped himself in his arms. Gohan shuddered and a sob escaped him. He didn’t care, he just wanted to go home. He wouldn’t survive this place. He just couldn’t.

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Nail came and helped him clean up. Embarrassment was only the beginning of it. Gohan felt the room spin and he constantly toppled over, his body obeying gravity against the wishes of his internal balance. He gripped a chair as he stood in the wash basin while Nail scrubbed his body pink and poured water over his head. At least he could cry during a bath without the namek noticing. The only time he moved against his nursemaid’s wishes was when Nail gripped his tail and he yowled like a cat in pain, leaping from the basin and falling hard against a table with soap and bath salts piled atop it.

The namek only frowned at him and gripped his arm tightly, forcing him back into the basin where he again took his tail and scrubbed hard.

Gohan bit his knuckles to keep from screaming.

Afterwards, Nail dressed him like a doll. Moving him this way and that, jerking the clothing into place. The dated clothing sat ill upon his rather solid frame and the namek grunted in disapproval yet continued with his task. Hair combed roughly and feet shoved into a pair of too large shoes, Gohan followed the namek from the room, staring at his feet to keep his balance. The bump on the back of his head throbbed, keeping time with his heart as though taunting him, reminding him of every second he spent here in this place.

“Clean the stove and stock the wood.” Nail ordered and turned, leaving Gohan in what he would have called the kitchen, except for the distinct lack of solid food. He shuffled toward the wood burning stove, kneeling in front of it before he fell down, and he stared at the heavy black latch, his fingers gripping the metal.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder, Gohan looked to the kitchen doorway and into the large parlor, the stairs twisting up to his left – he couldn’t see Nail.

Licking his lips, Gohan glanced to his left and right. Unlike in his home, there wasn’t a kitchen door out to the back of the home, but there were windows and an iron poker sitting next to the stove.

Ash gathered in his mouth, its scent heavy where he knelt, and he found it hard to swallow. He shifted, peeking over his shoulder again, and he grasped the poker, pulling its heavy chill to his chest and he stood, eyes wide, heart pounding against his white knuckled fists. He took a step to his left, stopping as the click of shoes echoed from the parlor.

The window or the door. He could see the door, just in front of the staircase. The shoes came closer and Gohan rushed for the archway leading into the kitchen, only a minor stumble upon his clumsy feet jilted his treason.

He stood to the right of the doorway, poker raised to his shoulder like he would have held a baseball bat. Panic set in and Gohan held his breath. He couldn’t even hit the ball that one time his father had tried to teach him to play a sport!

Nail stepped into the room, his shoulders stiffening as he looked upon the empty stove and Gohan had no choice, he swung. The air rushed from Nail’s lungs and he doubled over, holding his stomach. Gohan swung again, this time a cry bursting free, something primal and raw ripped at him as he chopped the poker down onto Nail’s back, dropping the namek. He ran then, wild and unseeing. He dropped his weapon, he made it past the front door of the home, and erupted out into the middle of the street, staring up at surprised green faces no matter where he turned. Gohan backed away, fleeing down the street, away from _them_ , anywhere but toward one of _them_.

He ran till he couldn’t breathe and then forced himself to keep going. If he tripped he got back up, if he skinned his knee, he ignored it, he ran till he couldn’t run; and as he burst from an alley – spying the forest ahead that he knew so well, a forest he had grown up playing in with his father and knew if he got there, he could hide from _them_. Gohan flung himself forward – and a body stepped into his path and grabbed hold of him.

Gohan choked upon his ragged breathes, pulling weakly against the large and firm grip of the massive namek in front of him. He shook his head, but the namek backhanded him, sending him sprawling to the dirt and he couldn’t move. Stars again exploded before his eyes and he vomited, acrid and sour.

The namek grasped the back of his shirt, jerking him to his feet and he dragged him through the streets like the spoils after a hunt. The journey back seemed far shorter. He could smell rain in the air. The harder he breathed, the harder it was for him to move. He clung to the large hand at the back of his neck and Gohan grit his teeth, eyes squeezed shut. He really was going to die this time.

Lugged up the front porch, his captor dropped him. Gohan fell forward onto his face, his eyes meeting with a pair of shiny shoes.

“I caught him just before the forest….Don.” The large namek bit the last word out, his voice a volcano of strength that matched the grip he had felt on his clothing.

Gohan rolled to his back. If he was going to die, he was going to die head on. Piccolo frowned down at him, his face emotionless save for the deep furrow between his brow ridges. “He will have to be punished.”

Nail stood next to Piccolo, holding his stomach still with a hunch to his back. He simply looked at Gohan then looked away, his jaw tightening in anger. Gohan’s lip trembled and he bit it to keep it still.

The largest namek Gohan had ever seen snorted. The namek scowled directly at him, the size of his jaw could crack walnuts and hatred poured off him like water on a duck. Gohan wanted to sink directly into the floor to get away from those dark, burning eyes. At least Mr. Piccolo’s red pair flickered and contemplated what to do; his eyes – his eyes already knew what he would do if given the chance.

“You are already too soft on him, Piccolo.” The namek looked back to Mr. Piccolo and Gohan swallowed, his heart still racing.

Mr. Piccolo’s shoulders stiffened and he drew himself up, red eyes looking how they had in Gohan’s kitchen. “Slug, you should be careful-“

“He is young and a saiyan!” Slug’s voice rose, filling the space around him. “They are born animals! They will fight and scratch and bite their way to freedom if they are not broken properly.” He sneered and poked the toe of his boot into Gohan’s side. “Even for a half-breed pup, he will still be nothing but a wild beast.”

Mr. Piccolo made a sound in his chest, a growl, and Gohan looked back to him, sweat cooling on his brow and neck. With a lift of his chin and a slight flare of his nostrils, Mr. Piccolo folded his arms over his chest, hiding his face from Gohan. He felt a bead of sweat tickle down between his shoulder blades.

“What do you have in mind, Slug?”

Slug smiled and Gohan shivered, grateful his stomach was empty. “Well, Don Piccolo, I have a few ideas on how to put this dog in his place. Though, it’ll take time.”

“Time is meaningless so long as the training is sufficient.” Mr. Piccolo raised a brow, shifting slightly from one foot.

“Your home, though...” Slug waved a hand in the air as though he were bored, “lovely, isn’t adequately equipment for such a task as a saiyan pup.” He smirked and Gohan looked to Mr. Piccolo desperately. “My quarters, on the other hand, are more than ready for such a task.”

 _No, not him._ Gohan shuddered. He didn’t like Slug; he had only known him for less than two minutes and already Gohan knew in his gut he did not want this namek anywhere near him. Mr. Piccolo’s lips pursed and Gohan shifted, struggling to his elbows as he sat up. Slug grunted and his foot thudded down onto him, shoving him flat onto his back.

“Stay down!”

Mr. Piccolo tapped a shiny shoe, his antennae twitching slightly as he gazed directly at Gohan.  “Done. You will take him to your facility and begin training today. I’ll visit in one weeks time to see how the situation is progressing.”

Slug bowed his head, “My…Don…honors me.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Extra Loud Warning* This is the chapter that is the real reason for the child abuse warning. I'll mark it with a *** but I tried to explain it quickly and its not detailed. But, it could serve as a trigger to some or for those who don't wish to read it, just skip it; you'll get the idea well enough. Just fair warning, this is the uncomfortable bit, after this, it smooth sailing. ~MEL
> 
> *Gohan goes through Slug's breaking process.

~~~~~6~~~~~

 

The cage was small. He couldn’t even stand up in it. He hunched if he did stand, and even then, it wasn’t like he had a lot of room to walk. Gohan leaned his head against the bars, hugging himself, hiding from the rest of the eyes watching him and wished he could just sleep; but his stomach growled. He could see the other…slaves. He didn’t know what else to call them. He could hear them; smell them; he could practically feel them as they huddled in the corners of their cages, flinching every time a namek walked by.

He had tried talking to one of the girls next to his cage, but she averted her eyes, scrambling to the other corner and she began to rock on her heels, shielding her eyes from him.

Day One: Slug forced him to crawl on his hands and knees, hitting him if he looked up past his fingers. Gohan had accepted it, if begrudgingly, but when he didn’t move fast enough, it was the spankings that made him shout and fight. It only dragged out the punishment longer; draped over Slug’s knees, his hand thundering down upon his bare backside with stinging blows till his cheeks burned and he could barely walk.

Day Two: Slug refused to let him sleep. Gohan, tied to a chair, shed of his shirt and pants, struggled to stay awake. If he stayed awake and answered Slug’s questions, cold water wasn’t poured over his head.

“Yes, Sir.” Gohan said as loudly as he could, his eyes drooping. He shook his head, forcing his eyes open wide – but it was too late one of Slug’s men splashed a bucket full of water in his face. He sputtered and coughed, his skin shuddering and rising in goose pimples in a vain attempt to warm himself. Gohan hadn’t felt his fingers or toes in several hours.

“What do you say if I tell you to get down on your hands and knees and lick my boots?” Slug hissed, jerking Gohan’s face to look upon his, his fingers digging ruthlessly into his jaw and Gohan whimpered, his lower lip trembling.

Slug raised a brow and Gohan gasped, forcing his eyes wide to keep them from shutting, “Yes, Sir!” He gripped the arms of the chair, feeling only a faint pressure in the area around his knuckles where his fingers must have done what he commanded.

Shoving his head back, Slug nodded, folding his arms across his chest, staring at him, assessing him, waiting as if to watch him fail. Then he lifted a hand and Gohan cried out, bowing his head just in time to keep the water from hitting him right in the face.

Another five hours passed. Gohan, limp and  boneless, was dragged from the chair and forced to crawl upon the ground, wiping up the water with a rag that he rung out into a bucket. It took him hours and Gohan’s fingers fumbled with the rag, his nails scraping the floor till Slug gripped him by the hair and pulled him from the room and throwing him before the fire in his parlor, a simple, but dry, shirt and pair of shorts landed next to his hands and Slug motioned toward them.

“Change.”

Gohan gripped them, fingers still numb and white, fumbled with the cloth. A great wracking shiver rocked his body as the heat of the fire beat at his chilled bones. Slug watched him dress, never leaving the room. Two hours later, once he had dried and slumbered on the floor next to Slug’s chair like a dog, Slug dragged him away again by the hair and doused him in water, demanding respect.

Gohan didn’t know what he had done.

Day three: Slug must have allowed him an hour or two of sleep simply due to the fact Gohan had passed out and was unable to be revived. A slap, a punch, a kick to his side and Gohan moaned, rolling into a ball to hide himself from the blows. Strangled words escaped his lips and only after the blows had stopped did Gohan realize he had begged.

_“Yes, Sir. Please, no more, Sir. Stop, please, anything, Sir!”_

Slug led him around the house, having him clean under tables and behind bookcases, his large hand holding his tail in his hand, threatening him with the faintest of pressure at the slightest slip-up on his part – but more often than not, Slug pulled and he cried, choking upon his sobs and nearly collapsing into a ball of delirious pain.

“Don’t be lazy.” Slug ordered, and Gohan trembled, his belly rumbling, empty of food for the last three days. He forced his hands to move, but the dust was just pushed around. He couldn’t care that his fingers didn’t work the way he remembered. He didn’t know why they ached, but he felt Slug’s hand tighten upon his tail and he whimpered, bowing his head, bracing himself.

He just wanted to go home. He wanted his mother and father. He didn’t want to be here. Gohan remembered what it had been like, just four days ago, and yet it felt as though that life was only a memory. Had he once been so worried about his father being an Enforcer? He didn’t care about that anymore. He just wanted his daddy to make the pain go away.

“Insolent brat.” Slug’s voice carried like a hiss of wind through an opening and before he knew it, Gohan found himself lifted up by his waist and tossed over Slug’s knees, his backside raised and his trousers pulled down and the namek’s large hand paddled swift and vicious across the welted flesh. Gohan shouted at first, but he hung his head as the last of his strength left him. He dangled there, his eyes squeezed shut and his ears ringing.

The pain disappeared after awhile. It just buzzed along his veins, thumping through his blood like a nasty and ugly plum that left a sour taste on his tongue.

*** Slug grunted, jerking Gohan closer, holding his neck against his large thigh and Gohan stiffened as he felt a hard thing against his side. He couldn’t understand why Slug would have something like that in his pants, up against his stomach. It distracted his mind, running the theories as to what it was through his head. What purpose did it serve? Was it something a doctor gave him? He had heard once that sometimes doctors did things like that; gave their patients prescriptions that seemed odd and yet cured some ailment. But the thing against his side seemed to get harder and longer, rubbing against his ribs now as Slug pulled him closer to his stomach, his free hand gripped at his shoulder now, and his other hand slowed its spanking to suddenly caress the pained and red flesh of his backside.

“You look good like this; with my fingers marking your flesh.”

Gohan stiffened, his eyes widening as he felt those fingers grip his cheeks.

Slug grunted and Gohan jerked, shouting as those fingers dipped between his legs.

It happened all so fast, one minute he was struggling, weak sounds escaping his throat, the next he was dumped to the ground and pulled up by his hair, his face pulled toward Slug’s exposed crotch and Gohan simply reacted. Somewhere, deep inside he found whatever reservoirs of strength remaining and he bit; hard. ***

He fell backwards, his body never seeming to touch the ground for the next moment, he yanked his trousers up and was out the door, racing through the halls and out a side window opened to air out the building in preparations for winter. He fell into the flowerbed, mud coating him, and he erupted into the busy afternoon streets, nameks turning to stare at him once more as if in mockery of yet another attempt toward freedom.

He stumbled, his legs wobbly and his backside aching, and Gohan rushed into the middle of the street, barely dodging a motorcar and his shoulder’s knocking against the hips of the extremely tall nameks around him.

“Get him!”

Gohan’s head jerked around and he spied them, Slug’s brutes bursting from the building, and Gohan ran, sightless and desperate.

He saw him before he saw anything else. No other exit seemed more possible than him, and Gohan flung himself against Nail’s side, clinging to the namek, babbling against his ribs and he cried out, cringing against the imaginary hands of the men sent to take him back to Slug. Their feet pounded the earth and Gohan felt a hand upon his arm.

“Seems I’m not the only one who can’t hold onto a saiyan brat.” Nail’s voice was hard and even.

Gohan clung all the tighter, his nail’s biting into the fabric of Nail’s long vest and shirt. “Don’t send me back!”

“We’ll make certain his training is intensified.” One of the nameks behind him said and Gohan tucked his tail between his legs, his face pressing all the tighter into Nail’s ribs. He’d rather deal with Nail’s ire than go back and face everything Slug would indeed do to him.

“I believe our Don should be the one to decide such matters. Seeing as how he has escaped twice already. Such matters should not be overlooked when concerning such a…beast.” Nail’s arm folded over his body and shoved the hand from his arm away and Gohan nearly melted, his knees shaking.

He smelled him before he heard him and Gohan didn’t care, he shook his head and whimpered like a babe, pressing his entire body against Nail’s side, against the very namek he had beaten to escape…was it truly only three days ago?

“I told Pic- I told Don Piccolo I would break the animal, and I will!” Slug’s voice boomed and just like that, the entire world went silent, the street patrons paused in their errands, venders went silent from calling their wares, and even motorcars screeched to a halt, and every eye fell upon them.

“And I promised you I would come to see you in three days to see how your training has gone.” Mr. Piccolo appeared as through from the sun itself. He stepped into the space separating Gohan from Slug, cutting the namek off from him and Gohan quavered at the look upon Mr. Piccolo’s face.  Head held high, shoulders back, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes blazed like twin embers. “It appears as though you have been even less successful than Nail was.”

Slug’s face turned purple and his fists trembled at his sides. “I want the beast back. I want to break his spirit till he is nothing more than a quivering nerve of desire to please m…you, Don Piccolo.”

Mr. Piccolo snorted and a scowl furrowed his face. “I asked you to train him, not break him, Slug. It appears you are good for nothing more than creating mindless servants.”

“Listen here, you child!” Slug stepped forward, chest puffed up and his fist wrapping into the collar of Mr. Piccolo’s shirt, jerking him towards his snarling face. “Your father might have put up with your arrogance-“

Mr. Piccolo grasped the man’s large wrist and with a shove with the other hand, Slug stumbled backwards, eyes wide, and Gohan watched as Mr. Piccolo shouted and hammered down upon the namek’s arm, shattering bone, snapping muscle and tearing flesh, and with a mighty tug, he ripped the man’s arm from his body.

Gohan couldn’t breathe as fountains of purple namekian blood blossomed in the air and splattered against the dirt with a sickening squelch.

Slug howled, falling to his knees, hand clinging to his stump of an arm in a wet mess.

Tossing it aside as though it were nothing, Mr. Piccolo stepped forward, grabbing the larger man by an ear and forcing his head back to stare up at him. “My father taught me to not take the shit you spout. I demand respect only because I earn my respect.” He shoved Slug backwards, throwing him to the dirt. “You demand your respect at the end of a crop.”

He turned then, looking first to Gohan then to Nail, a scowl covering his face. “Take the boy home. Clean him. Dress him. Feed him. If _Lord_ Slug or his men come for him; kill them.”

Nail bowed and Gohan couldn’t look away from Mr. Piccolo, his fingers aching from the grip he had upon Nail’s clothing. “I…I don’t have to go back with him?” His voice cracked.

Mr. Piccolo’s nostrils flared but he nodded and Gohan smiled ever so weakly before his knees finally gave out and he began to fall, stopped only by Nail’s strong arms.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

His father’s desk told a story. Rich mahogany wood that could melt butter shone like embers. Each black rose carved into the front of the desk that ran along the legs and edges, twisted delicately together till every inch held a rose in bloom. Every chip in the top of the desk whispered of a past. The gold clock that remained unmoving, marking the time of his death. The dirt stained baseball on the corner with a signature from Yankee Stadium. The stately water glass with carefully designed branches circling and encasing the glass with little hollows within where the leaves would be, while a single vein of green glass webbed out from the center. The neat little black leather book that sat in the center of the desk, framed by a fountain pen and a bottle of ink he used to refill the pen with. And there to the right, sitting inelegant and rough was the toy car Piccolo had made in grade school for a pinewood derby.

Piccolo stared at the car, his stomach clenching. He father hated everyone. Even members of his own Family he had despised; and yet it was perhaps the only sign his father had cared for at least one thing in his entire life – his son.

The door opened and Piccolo jerked his head up, eyes wide, furious at the intrusion, but he held his tongue, staring at Nail as the older boy entered and bowed his head. “He’s eating in the kitchen. If you are ready, I’ll take you to him.”

He snorted and Nail straightened, waiting. Piccolo shook his head. He shouldn’t have to be the one going to him. The kid was his to do with as he wanted; the kid should come to him. But, the boy hadn’t been able to walk after he had taken him from Lord Slug. Nail had had to carry him back home.

Striding from the room, tall and head held high, Piccolo ignored the raised brow from Nail and he led the way to the kitchens, the scent of spices already filling the stale air of his father’s home. Two guards stood watch, one on either side of the door; though it was doubtful the boy had plans to run anytime soon. At the rate he was stuffing his face with everything in sight anyway. Piccolo halted in the doorway and stared in horror. It was disgusting! Every morsel of food the boy could reach was instantly stuffed into his mouth, chewing quickly and barely swallowing before something else took its place. Food lined his mouth; grease upon his fingers; food fell from his lips; and half-eaten morsels littered the area around his plate. Piccolo’s stomach rolled in protest at the sight.

It took the boy nearly ten minutes before he realized someone else was there; and by then his little belly actually bulged out in front of him, stuffed to capacity and then some.

They stared at each other directly, eye to eye. The boy nervously wiped at his mouth and straightened in his seat. Piccolo raised a brow and the child seemed to wilt and looked at his plate his face growing white.

Bruises covered the boy; he even remembered hints of welts and nasty looking marks in skin where his shirtless body had clung to Nail.

“I gave you to Slug, I took you from Slug, and I can always give you back.” The boy stiffened and Piccolo noted his held breath. It pleased him somewhat, to know the boy clung to his every word.

He didn’t speak and Piccolo frowned, his arms folding over his chest in annoyance. “Well?”

He jumped and his wide, rich brown eyes stared at him again and Piccolo wondered how saiyans could have such eyes, so wide and expressive, or narrowed and deadly with colors that haunted those they stared at. The boy nibbled his lip then winced as he irritated the split, “I don’t want to go back there.” voice hoarse and tired.

“Then you better be prepared to follow my voice as law.” He narrowed his eyes and the boy’s lower lip trembled, his eyes quivering as tears gathered.

“I want to go home.” He choked and his face contorted, his head bowed and his shoulders shook.

Piccolo shifted, acutely aware of his two men behind him, looking into the room. He growled, low in his chest and waved a hand out violently, “Enough crying!” and the boy only cried harder if a bit more quietly.

He turned then, leaving the kitchen, his face flushed and hands shaking. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, his palms sweating. “Nail!”

Nail appeared instantly, and Piccolo suddenly questioned Lord Guru’s motivation in allowing his penniless child to leave his side to serve their Don full time. But Nail’s honest eyes made him push the suspicion aside and point to the kitchen. “When the child stops sobbing, bring him to me.

Concise and obedient, Nail nodded – but the surprised look didn’t go unnoticed. Piccolo stalked from the kitchen, storming through his home till he settled once again in his father’s study, glaring at the desk, angry and hurt his father was gone. Confused and frustrated that a saiyan, a child, the son of the man who had killed his father, lingered in his thoughts like taffy stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

What was it about the boy? He had wanted to kill him on sight and yet he had stayed his hand thrice now, humiliating himself when he had agreed to allow Slug to train him instead of outright killing him; and again when the boy had attacked Slug and fled from him. It was absurd to allow a slave to live after such acts of defiance! To kill the child would also relieve the pit in his chest that pulsed with unrelenting need for revenge.  Yet he still stayed his hand.

He couldn’t even remember his name, and yet the boy’s eyes held him at bay.

He was a child though, very young, and yet his soul seemed so old compared to everyone around him. He held a naiveté Piccolo had never seen before. Even the namek children at least knew how to defend themselves if not hide to pull the levers for traps or reloading guns handed to them through trapdoors; and with that training came an early end to their childhood. This saiyan boy showed no signs of having grown up within the Saiyan Family.

Piccolo stiffened and eyes wide and sightless upon the chipped shine of his father’s desk. The boy hadn’t. He had no idea what his father did.

A knock on the door startled him and he twisted around, fists tight at his sides.

Nail helped the boy walk in – though it appeared the food had done the trick and his strength began to return. Settling him into a high backed chair, the boy winced and bowed his head away from Nail, his face flushed red and he didn’t look up till Nail left after Piccolo waved him out.

Piccolo circled him, watching the boy closely. He flinched after a moment, his tail twitching, and Piccolo instantly stopped in front of him. “What’s your name?”

The boy blinked innocently up at him, not seeming to understand the honor Piccolo was showing him. It wasn’t everyday a Don asked to know his slaves’ name.

“Son Gohan…Mr. Piccolo.”

Piccolo took a step closer, still staring down his nose at the boy. “Do you understand what is going on?”

Gohan hesitated, but only long enough to sigh in defeat, “Yes, Sir.”

“I have the power to do whatever I want. I am the Don of my Family. All I have to do is snap my fingers and you will be taken from my sight.”

The boy stiffened, his fingers gripping his knees tightly. “I know.” His voice sounded so weak; terrified. Piccolo didn’t like it.

He reached out and snatched Gohan’s hair. The boy’s eyes popped wide, his face deathly white and his hands jerked up and grabbed his wrist, holding tightly and Piccolo’s severe face frowned all the more. “Do you also realize the predicament you are in?” He hissed and the boy trembled.

Pulling his hand away, Piccolo took a step back, again frowning as he rubbed his wrist, scratching against the feel of the boy’s fingers on him. “I’ll let your mother live, I’ll let you live, and you will never go back to Slug, so long as you obey me. You will serve me and do as I wish, and by doing so, I will uphold my end of the bargain.” Piccolo’s words rushed from him and he felt his ears heat up.

What was it about this boy that made him question everything he had once known as law? Piccolo swallowed watching the boy, and he hated him a little – he hated him because he made him hope.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

Gohan’s hands felt hot and when he pressed them against his knees, the heat radiated out against his flesh. Mr. Piccolo stared at him, red eyes blazing, wide and predatory and Gohan swallowed hard, hoping this man told the truth.

“You-you really will keep my mother safe?”

Mr. Piccolo nodded once, his arms jerking up and folding over his chest, his ears discoloring to a soft shade of violet. “Yes.”

He swallowed again and Gohan licked his lips, tasting the copper and heat from his split lip. He opened his mouth cautiously, heart pounding. “All I have to do is, is work for you?”

Mr. Piccolo’s face twisted up at that, his shoulders relaxing minutely. He nodded as the awkward silence began to fill the room. “Yes…” he took a step forward and Gohan stiffened, his skin crawling and his muscles locking up.

Yet he would rather be here with Mr. Piccolo than out there with Slug.

Gohan swallowed hard, red eyes boring into him expectantly if a bit annoyed with his hesitance to answer him quickly. “W-what do you want me to do?” He shifted and the burn on his backside jolted through him and he gripped his knees. Better Mr. Piccolo than Slug. Mr. Piccolo had to be better than Slug in anything he did.

Mr. Piccolo tapped his foot. His heavy sigh vibrated, seeming to collide with the walls and wrap around Gohan tightly. “An Enforcer most likely. Your father seemed good enough at it.”

Gohan winced and bowed his head, hiding from the anger. “I…I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then you’re going to have to train hard. That’s what Enforcers do.”

“Do I….Do I have to kill?”

He stared at his shiny shoes, waiting for that clicking of his toes, for the light to shift across its surface as it snapped up then back down. But his toes never moved, “Perhaps. I had too.”

Gohan glanced back at him and Mr. Piccolo averted his eyes quickly. Turning to look upon the large, intricate desk in the room, Mr. Piccolo reached out then, lifting a pinewood car from the surface and studying its childish make. It had a red stripe running from end to end.

Mr. Piccolo exhaled slowly, turning the car over in his hand, and spun a rickety wheel before it squeaked to a stop. Mr. Piccolo set it back onto the desk gingerly; and just like that, Gohan’s eyes widened and he realized Slug had been completely honest – Mr. Piccolo was a child; older than him, but a young teenager at best who happened to sit in the Don’s chair of power.

The car was carefully placed back where he had found it, his red eyes softer than before. Head tipped back, he stared down his long nose at him. “I suppose I could order you not to kill.” He said, voice quiet, “But you will have to prove to me you deserve such a gift.”

Gohan stared at Piccolo, suddenly seeing everything about him in a brand new light. “How old are you?”

Piccolo gaped at him, mouth dropping open before snapping shut, his cheeks turning purple as he slowly simmered to a snarling retort. “That is none of your concern!” he marched up to him, his fingers curling in his hair roughly – and this time, Gohan didn’t shy away from it.

“But, if you are my age, then we could be friends.” Gohan gasped at the sharp tug on his hair.

“We can’t be friends! You are a slave, I am a Don.” Piccolo puffed up, his chest pushed out.

“Oh.” Gohan sighed and leaned into him slowly, taking the pressure off. “I guess not. Though, it would be nice to have someone to talk too.”

 Piccolo snorted and released him, and Gohan winced, rubbing at the back of his head. It was silly; in fact, wasn’t he supposed to be scared that he could die today? Piccolo certainly inspired a fearful respect, yet he didn’t think Mr. Piccolo could honestly kill him.

His tail wrapped about his waist, his fingers picking at the knees of his pants. “Thank you – for the clothes.” His voice wavered and he bit his lip. “He was horrible…”

“I’m twelve years old.”

Gohan blinked and looked up at the older boy, watching a purple flush spread down from his ears and across his nose as he folded his arms tightly in front of his chest.

He smiled then, his shoulders relaxing and his tail sliding back, limp and relaxed at his side, the tip waving gently in the air. “I’m nine. But my birthday is coming up soon. I was hoping I’d get a new book. I like reading Mark Twain. Though…” he frowned, realizing it for the first time in what felt like forever, “…I was in the middle of reading Moby-Dick. Chapter 62…” He didn’t know why he said it. It somehow seemed important to remember every little detail of his life before Mr. Piccolo.

“Nail!” Piccolo’s voice carried and Gohan stared only at him, even as the door opened and Nail stepped inside, tall and resilient. He reminded Gohan of a butler. But more angry looking.

Folding his arms over his chest, a severe frown marring his face and drawing his brow’s tight together, Piccolo’s shoulders tightened and Gohan shifted uncomfortably on his chair.

“Don Piccolo, Sir?” Nail prompted, his antennae twitching.

Mr. Piccolo nodded, looking first to Gohan, red eyes boring into him. “You swear to serve me and my Family as you would your own?”

Gohan stiffened, eyes widening. His fingers tightened upon his knees, his nails digging into the cloth, and his tail twitched, thumping upon the seat. He nodded slowly, mouth dry. “Y…yes…” He whispered, his cheeks flushing, “So…” He swallowed and he wished he could look away from the irritated twitching of Mr. Piccolo’s brow at his insolent and bold demand, “So long as my mother is never hurt.”

They squared off, daring the other to argue, daring the other to bargain further – yet, Piccolo nodded, stepping closer, and towering over him.

He struggled to his feet, wincing and pressing a hand to his backside only to blush and avert his gaze long enough to compose himself. He stood before Piccolo, tail swaying. Gohan nodded, pushing his shoulders back. Safety and protection. To have the Namekian Family protect his mother in exchange for his freedom, it settled him – a little. Gohan held his hand out, throat bobbing. “Then I swear my life to you, Mr. Piccolo. I’ll work for you.”

Piccolo’s ears colored ever so faintly at the tips before it disappeared, his lips thinning all the more and a glare leveled upon him. “Nail, give him Tambourine’s old room. Once he has recovered from Slug’s butchery, he will begin training.”

Nail’s eyes widened, his shoulders stiff. “But Sir-“

“I know.” Piccolo snapped, finally looking away from Gohan and the two looked at the other namek, whose mouth snapped shut and he bowed.

“Yes, Sir.” He turned slightly, waiting for Gohan.

Gohan's brows knitted together. “Mr. Piccolo?”

“Go with Nail. I have work to do.” He turned his back on him, arms falling at his sides.

Gohan did as he was told, shuffling forward and leaning upon the end table on his way to Nail. The namek looped an arm about his waist and helped him down the hall. Gohan peeked over his shoulder at Mr. Piccolo, seeing the namek frown at the desk once more before Nail led him down another hallway.

Nail guided him to a very lovely hall with mirrors and fresh flowers atop tables and paintings of the namekian’s homeland. Wide and airy, the hallway screamed it belonged to the Don; to Piccolo. Gohan hesitated as Nail drew closer to the double doors in the center, growing nervous as to what Piccolo intended. Yet, Nail moved past them to a single door of dark wood on the left, unimposing and looking more like the doorway to a closet than a room.

It unlocked and opened into a thin layer of dust. Bookshelves lined every available wall, and a desk was shoved in the corner under the only window in the room. Small and square that opened just enough to allow fresh air inside, Gohan limped inside, glancing up at the low ceiling for a namek, and then to the swinging light in the center of the room. The walls encased him, wrapping around him protectively with a layer of books to shroud him. Nail settled him in the chair, stepping back to stare down at him, eyes shadowed from his brows with his mouth turned down harshly; and Gohan stared back, pressing his hands against his knees to keep from shaking.

“Don Piccolo is young, but he is still my Don.”

Gohan nodded, his brows knitting together in confusion. He didn’t understand what Nail’s meaning behind that statement was.

Nail leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of the chair and Gohan sat back quickly, the namek crowding into his space. “I stay my hand because my Don wishes it. Disobey him, and I will return the beating you gave me. Understand?”

Swallowing hard, Gohan nodded, his tongue going dry. 

Nail stood, smoothing his long vest over his chest. “I’ll be but a moment. I’ll have a bed brought in for you. Don Piccolo’s rooms are next door. I’m certain my Don has his reasons for placing you so close to his side.” His eyes narrowed and his fingers knotted into a fist – and with a turn, Nail left the room, the lock clicking tight behind him.

Slumping forward, Gohan couldn’t even wince and he hid his face in his hands. This was all too confusing. 

~~~~~*~~~~~

TBC....


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan is given an ultimatum.

~~~~~7~~~~~

 

Slug grabbed the back of his shirt, throwing him to the floor. Gohan cried out, clawing at the floor, desperate to run yet unable to stand. So he crawled, he crawled uphill as Slug marched after him. He crawled through the streets and under a bush; he dragged himself over a wall by his fingernails with Slug’s hand reached for his tail. Even his tail felt like lead and he felt tears burning the back of his eyes. Then he fell, falling over a cliff and down toward a room with a sitting room chair, a fireplace and a rose studded desk. Piccolo glanced up from the desk, reading glasses perched on his nose and a cravat around his neck. Gohan stood before the desk, shaking, and then Slug was behind him. He screamed as the namek grabbed him by the hair, jerking him down over his knees and his hand collided with his backside.

Gohan jerked and sat up in bed, his backside still sore and his throat hoarse and he shook, gripping the blanket in his lap. Sweat streaked his brow and his undershirt clung to body. The door of his room jiggled and was pushed open and Nail stood there, looking as though he had rolled out of bed and hastily dressed by the askew vest.

Wiping his brow and looking away, Gohan felt his body shudder, face twisted painfully and he choked on his tears. He scrubbed at his eyes, Nail’s footsteps moved into his room and Gohan whimpered, shying away from the edge of his bed. The namek settled his hand upon his head, large and warm, Gohan wished he hated him, but he couldn’t. Nail sat on the edge and waited, hand simply laying upon his head and before he knew it, Gohan found his arms wrapped about Nail’s waist and sobbing into his chest.

“What is it?” Nail’s voice questioned, low and soft, his hand still sitting atop his head while his other hand laid upon his shoulder.

“B-bad d-dr-dream….” He stuttered, and Gohan felt his entire body convulse and he cried out, shaking his head against his chest. “I want my momma!” the words burst past his lips and it was as if a floodgate opened, gushing every emotion he had suppressed over the last few days. He had sworn himself to Piccolo and he would do that to keep his family safe, but he just wanted his mother’s comforting arms around him, her voice chastising him for being ridiculous, dreams could never harm you. He wanted her so badly and he could never have that again.

“Nail?”

“Nightmares,” The namek said, his body twisting just enough for Gohan to see Mr. Piccolo standing in the doorway, shirtless and looking so gangly and thin, “and he misses his mother.”

Gohan squeezed his eyes shut, gasping for breath between the body wracking sobs. He didn’t want Mr. Piccolo to see him like this. He wanted Mr. Piccolo to think he was strong and would be useful to him. Not a cry baby who couldn’t even sleep through the night.

Piccolo lingered in the doorway and Nail turned back more comfortably on the bed, his hand patting him on the shoulder, the other sliding from his head to his back.

“What was your nightmare about?” And this time it was Mr. Piccolo's voice filling the small room, a little crackle to his voice.

Shifting his focus back to the reason of his waking, Gohan couldn’t answer for quite some time, his throat hurt from all the crying and remembering the feel of Slug’s hand slapping his backside and then…touching him there….Gohan shook his head. “Slug-“he managed out, biting his lip.

“He will not ever come for you again.” Nail whispered.

“Stop this. This is foolish.” Mr. Piccolo said, voice deepening. Gohan stiffened in Nail’s arms, Piccolo’s bare feet slapping on the floorboards.

Reluctantly, Nail pulled away from Gohan and stood, leaving him alone and staring up at Mr. Piccolo. Gohan shook his head and flinched backwards as Piccolo’s hands reached for him and grabbed his shoulders. “Nightmares will not hurt you. Face your fear. What could Slug’s training possibly have been like to make you scream in the middle of the night and wake the entire household?” He glared, twin fires hovered in the darkness and Gohan wanted to hide from him, but he was so close and strong that he wanted to curl up against him and feel safe for a while.

It was comforting somehow, feeling confident hands on his shoulders, forcing him to pay attention. Swallowing hard, Gohan took a moment to wipe his eyes and nose on the hem of his undershirt and he sniffled, eyes puffy and hot. “Slug…he…he touched me.” He dropped his eyes, looking down at his lap.

Mr. Piccolo nudged him, crowding further into his space, “And?”

Gohan looked back at him, his face heating up. “And…and he took his…his penis out.”

Piccolo pulled back sharply, back straight and rigid.

“I…I bit him; that’s how I got away.” Gohan added quickly, eyes wide, desperate almost to make Mr. Piccolo see he wasn’t weak; not entirely. He twisted the bedding about in his hands, a tremble in his fingers.

Nail shifted, a flinch crossing his face. Mr. Piccolo folded his arms tight over his chest and turned, exiting the room without a second look back and Gohan’s stomach twisted. He couldn’t even look at him. Nail laid his hand back atop his head, gazing down at Gohan, forcing him to stare back up at him. He felt miserable. Maybe he should have just stayed quiet and not said anything.

“Do not worry. Don Piccolo has made it clear, you are to go nowhere.” Nail pulled back then and left just as quickly as he had come and Gohan listened as the lock turned and he was left alone in his foreign room. Curling into his blankets, he hid his face and shuddered, biting his lip to keep silent as tears again fell.

He just wanted his mother.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

“He isn’t allowed.” Piccolo hissed, pointing vaguely in the direction of Slug’s home. He wanted to beat the man, take his arm and beat him with it before ripping his heart out and forcing the namek to eat it before he died.

Nail frowned, his face drained of color. “No, this isn’t acceptable.” He glanced back at the door, keeping his voice low. “Slave or not, it is wrong.”

“That is why I’ll kill him.” Piccolo turned, pacing, his knuckles hurt the harder he gripped his fists.

“No. We can’t have the Don killing. Even if the reason is legitimate. Not yet anyway. You need to establish yourself first as a leader and then a Don willing to enforce your own law by his own hand. But before then, you need to prove you are smart, not a thug like Slug is. Slug has followers; this needs to be handled…discretely.”

Piccolo scoffed, his heart thumping loudly, sounding as if it was playing a fast rhythm in his ears. “Discretely was my father’s way of saying he was going to pay them off.”

“Or it could mean a pair of cement shoes.” Nail’s eyes narrowed and Piccolo stopped, glancing his way and studying the older namek.

With a simple nod, Piccolo motioned him to continue.

“I’ll go to Lord Guru and explain the situation.”

Piccolo felt a bit light headed. Uncle Guru? He hadn’t thought of him. He did have more sway over the Family than he did yet. Perhaps enlisting his help would be best; and if the rumors were true, Uncle Guru would more than handle the pervert. There was a reason that the prime of Guru’s life was referred to as the bloodiest of their Family's legacy.

They agreed, Nail swearing to speak to his father in the morning. A week later, Lord Guru had turned Slug’s home into a burning torch with picket signs and screaming nameks on all sides. No namek wanted a child molester in their midst. Slug shouted, swearing his innocents, until his slaves were paraded before him; young, mistreated, underfed things that shied away from him, or burst into tears at the mere sight of him.

“I want you gone! No one touches a child and gets away with it!” Guru bellowed from his chair he had forced his men to carry out for him so he could enjoy the burning of Slug’s home and distribution of his belongings.

Piccolo stood before the window in his father’s study, looking out upon the garden his father had planted out back. Guru had more than done his duty; he had driven Slug out, destitute and humiliated.

“It is done. My men dropped him off in saiyan territory. A certain Don was informed of a saiyan child molester being abandoned upon his doorstep and thus making him available for further punishment; if he saw fit of course.”

“Of course.” Piccolo smiled, nodding his approval. “Well done, Uncle.”

“You doubted me?” Guru’s voice grew loud, sounding insulted.

“Never,” Piccolo waved away his over dramatics. “I just mean to say your work was superb.”

Guru snorted and then grew still, his fingers tapping the arms of his chair. “It is a shame though, that we did not learn of this sooner.” He trailed off, hollow and sad.

Piccolo nodded, looking back out at the gardens.

Gohan still had nightmares, waking him in a fit of screams. He had gone to the boy once, sending Nail back to bed. The boy had clung to him so tight….

“He will be fine, you know.” Guru grunted as he stood, his large mass swaying. “I see something in him, deep inside, an untapped potential that has yet to blossom.”

Piccolo frowned, turning back to him, arms folded over his chest. “What do you mean?”

Shrugging, Guru waddled to the door. “He is your slave! Figure it out!” He left then and Piccolo scowled. Just when he thought his uncle could be of use, he mocked him and fled.

That night, as Gohan screamed awake, Piccolo already stood at his door, ready, and he stared at the doorknob, his fingers shaking as he reached for the handle. What was he supposed to say? If he told the truth, it would be that a very dead Slug had been thrown in the east river not an hour ago. If he lied, the nightmares could continue. Would the boy ever get over it?

Nail stopped to his right, staring him, waiting. Piccolo grunted and turned, leaving Nail. “Calm him. We begin his training tomorrow and he needs all the rest he can get.” He reached for the doorknobs to his expansive room, and he stood still staring at his bare feet and found himself wondering what Gohan would have said had he been the one to tell him that Slug was dead and that the namek would never hurt him again. Would he have smiled?

He turned back and Nail hadn’t moved, staring at him, waiting. It annoyed him that Nail seemed to know what he was thinking before he did. He grunted and pushed past Nail, “Go back to bed. I’ll do it myself.” He grumbled. Nail backed away and Piccolo stepped into the room. He fumbled for a match, lighting an oil lamp upon the desk and he took a seat in the chair, staring at the boy.

Gohan pulled the covers over his head, shivering and trying so hard not to cry.

Closing his eyes and exhaling loudly, Piccolo twisted in the chair and reached for the books behind him; taking hold of one in particular he had purchased that morning at market.

“Look at me, kid.” He ordered, opening the book and flipping to the first chapter. “No more crying. Slug is gone. He was exiled from our Family for his crimes.”

Gohan shifted under his blankets and peeked out at him, a pair of glimmering honeyed eyes with the light from the lamp. “Gone?”

Piccolo tightened his jaw, stopping himself from explaining his death. He could see it, that spark was back in his eyes simply knowing Slug would not return. That was all it took, a simple reassurance. “Gone,” he nodded and dragged his eyes away, staring at the large ‘1’ upon the page.

He opened his mouth, he wanted to say something, but nothing seemed appropriate. So he searched for the words, and found them in a simple way. He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair and glanced at Gohan before he dropped his eyes.

“Call me Ishmael.”

Gohan pulled the blankets from his head and Piccolo’s face grew warm. Why was he embarrassed? All he was doing was reading a book. But he peeked at him, saw a smile touch the boy’s face and Piccolo swallowed hard, dropping his eyes back to the book, palms clammy.

“Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.”

“I was on chapter 62 back home.” He whispered, wiping his eyes.

Piccolo swallowed, refusing to look away from the page of the book. “I know. But I haven’t read this book before.”

Gohan shifted in his bed, cocooning his head in his arms and looking for the entire world like a mussed cat after a rainstorm. “You’ll like it.”

“I think so too.” He cleared his throat and began reading, forcing away bad dreams for his slave so they could both get some sleep; that’s why he was doing it.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Piccolo hit him, hard. Gohan staggered backwards, holding his rapidly bruising cheek and stared up at Mr. Piccolo till he fell flat on his butt in the dirt, sending up clouds of dust that stuck to his sweat soaked body.

“Get up.”

“But…you really hit me! You promised you wouldn’t do that again!”

He frowned at him, arms crossing over his chest. “Your enemies will not stop. They will come after you again and again until you are dead at their feet. Do you want that, to be weak and helpless before them? Or do you want to stand up and fight back and survive?” 

It was a rather ridiculous question Gohan thought, rubbing his cheek. He wanted to survive, and he wanted to prove to Piccolo he could be strong; but did he have to hit so hard? His cheek burned hot, throbbing where he had punched him. Father had never trained him in boxing, and the fighting style Mr. Piccolo used was very exotic and fluid. Every strike had purpose and even the placement of his feet set him up for the next counter strike. It was fascinating yet it seemed so complicated; and Piccolo expected him to fight back instantly and know what he was doing?

“Can you go slower?” Gohan asked, standing and brushing his backside off.

“No.” Piccolo jerked forward and Gohan shouted, backing up quickly and raising his arms, crossing them before his face to block his jab.

“Good!”

Gohan blinked and looked back up at him, eyes wide and a smile threatening to burst over his face. Then a right hook shot around his lax arms and collided hard with his other cheek and his head jerked to the side.

“Don’t allow your enemies to distract you. It leaves you open for attack."

He rubbed his cheek, wiping his nose in the process. “Sorry…” He kicked at the dirt.

“Again.”

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

TBC....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter~ I love the Moby-Dick scene so much <3 and then the nod to Piccolo beating the snot out of Gohan~ Aw, its like old times, love~


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never saw it coming....

~~~~~8~~~~~

~~~~~2 years later~~~~~

11 Years old

 

 

Gohan rolled over in his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging his pillow closer to his body. He nuzzled it and rumbled in his chest as the light of day began inching into his room. He didn’t want it to be morning; at least, not yet. Just a few more minutes of sleep so he could linger in the comfort of his warm bed and the fuzzy in-between of dreams and awareness.

A knock on the door shook him and he sighed, opening his eyes. He stared at the bookcase his bed was shoved up against. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer sat upon the shelf level with his bed and for a moment, he longed for a whole day to himself so he might read at his leisure. He would just have to wait till tonight.

Groaning, Gohan rolled over in bed and dragged himself from under the covers. Though light peeped into the room, it had the dull gray illumination of morning, a type of light that begged those around it to stay in bed and sleep longer.

Dressing and scratching at the back of his head, Gohan stepped out of his bedroom and ran smack into Nail’s broad chest.

The Namekian’s eyes narrowed and he grunted at the boy, clamping a hand down upon his shoulder. “You will be taking my place from now on. You will help our Don and I will now be in charge of organizing the log books and briefing him during breakfast of his coming meetings.”

Gohan blinked owlishly at him, his face heating and his tail slid around his thigh as if to hide. “W…what?”

Nail lifted his head and looked heavenward. The sigh he released made his bones rattle and Gohan momentarily thought Nail reminded him of a locomotive, powerful  and set in his ways, but dangerous if you stepped onto the tracks. “Gohan, you will be dressing Don Piccolo from now on. Understood?”

He couldn’t breathe at first. He simply stood there dumbly with a hole forming in his stomach. “What?” He gasped, lifting his hands to stop Nail before the annoyed gleam in his eyes resulted in a boxed ear. “Yes, sir! I…I just never….done something like that before.” He fumbled, his cheeks blushing, “I mean…I-I know how to dress myself, but I’ve never helped another and…” he waved his hands about, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and avoiding the raised brow and glower from the namekian’s dark eyes. “…and Mr. Piccolo has very fancy clothing. His suits have all those little details.”

With a snort, Nail pulled Gohan out of the doorway and marched him next door to the wide double doors to Piccolo’s rooms. “It doesn’t matter. You are to help him. Hand him what he needs and make sure his suit sits properly. Straighten the creases and smooth the lines. That’s it.” Nail opened the door and pushed him inside.

Gohan stumbled in and straightened, his eyes wide and his tail lashing at the air wildly. Mr. Piccolo turned, hands on his hips. He wore no shirt, his pajama pants hung low on his hips, and Gohan looked at his feet sheepishly. He hadn’t seen Mr. Piccolo like this before. Even his dad hadn’t gone shirtless to bed. He had at least worn an undershirt.

“Gohan.”

He swallowed hard and raised his eyes, attempting to skip everything from his feet to his face, but it was very difficult. Mr. Piccolo was so very tall. He had gotten taller in the last year, filling out with more muscle mass. In what used to be gangly arms and legs, he now looked the part he portrayed, a namekian warrior in charge of his Family. It was sometimes hard to remember they were nearly the same age. “Um….Good-good morning, Mr. Piccolo?”

Mr. Piccolo raised a brow but a little smirk flickered over his face and Gohan felt his shoulders relax instantly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Draw me a bath.” Mr. Piccolo waved his hand and Gohan jerked, moving across the room to the doorway that would place Mr. Piccolo’s private bathing room just behind where Gohan’s small room was.

The bathroom echoed as he stepped in, windows wide and letting in the weak, first rays of light. He got to work and soon Mr. Piccolo had stepped in, his pajamas falling to the tiles just as Gohan twirled about and rushed from the bathroom, standing beside the door. Water splashed and he could see Mr. Piccolo sliding under the water, it reaching his neck with how deep the tub was.

He blushed and looked away, peeking about Mr. Piccolo’s private chambers. It felt more like a small apartment than a bedroom. He even had another desk in the corner, a table and four chairs across from it, his bed and dressing area consumed the back of the room with a canopy of rich dark purples and hints of red trim with crisp white pillows to offset the consuming feel of the tapestries.

“Gohan, a towel.”

Mr. Piccolo’s voice pulled him back to the present and he turned quickly, hurried back into the bathroom and he snatched up a towel, holding it up before his hot face, eyes squeezed shut. Piccolo stood and the water seemed to roar and Gohan felt his water warmed hands brush over his fingers as he took the towel and wrapped it about his waist and moved past him into his bedroom.

Drawers opened and shut, rattling with his searches. Gohan eased into the bedroom and hopped too as Mr. Piccolo held out something to him. He took it from him, standing still as what looked to be a pair of underpants placed in his arms followed by a fresh undershirt.

Suddenly Mr. Piccolo reached for the towel.

Gohan stared studiously at a painting to his left, unwilling to look at Mr. Piccolo. The entire right side of his body tingled wildly because at his feet sat the towel and the clothes he was just handed were picked from his hands silently. He heard Mr. Piccolo moving about, another drawer hissing open and cloth rustled from within its depths. He dared a peek, the room far too big for his liking, and he spied the crisp white undershorts encasing his hips, and even still, Gohan found it difficult to look at him.

“I have a meeting this afternoon, I would prefer something imposing.” Mr. Piccolo explained, paying him no mind even as he led the way to his wardrobe, motioning for Gohan to open it.

Gohan had the horrible realization that Mr. Piccolo was going to make him dress him – completely.

Slow, the process sent Gohan riffling through Mr. Piccolo’s closet, pulling out specific suits and vests and jackets and crisp shirts of all colors and pressed pants, his mind a jumbled mess. Imposing? They were all imposing. What would he like? He had to get this right.

He glanced at him, eyes wide and tail puffed up and lashing wildly. Mr. Piccolo grunted and shook his head, pushing him out of the way, and Gohan watched him pull on a royal purple colored shirt, buttoning the first one in the middle, and Gohan opened his mouth, lifting a hand.

Red eyes jerked up and stared and Gohan blushed – but he swallowed and stepped forward, “Aw, you…you buttoned it wrong. It’ll be lopsided.” He whispered.

His Don raised a brow and spread his arms wide, “Then fix it. You are supposed to be helping me.”

Gohan’s heart doubled its pace and sweat gathered on his brow. “W...oh, r-right.” He stuttered and he stepped forward, taking Piccolo’s shirt. His fingers trembled violently and it made it difficult, he fumbled with the buttons, managing only two in the time it should normally have taken him to dress the entire length. Mr. Piccolo didn’t say a word – though he did grunt at one point in annoyance. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in the fresh scent of Mr. Piccolo’s soap, allowing his presence to really take root in him and ground him. With a foundation on which to stand once more, Gohan calmed his heart and he smiled oh so faintly as his fingers easily slipped the button into the hole, the rest following quickly.

“Good.” Piccolo said and he began to tuck the tails of his shirt into his slacks, pulling the suspenders over his shoulders. Gohan hesitated, his stomach flipping, but he reached forward, adjusting Mr. Piccolo’s collar and he tugged on the shoulders of Piccolo’s shirt, settling it evenly and his hands rand down his back. Before he realized what he had done, he lifted the vest and Piccolo slid into it, and Gohan moved to his front, buttoning the garment.

“Uh…” Gohan’s neck felt hot and he shifted where he stood, jumping back a step as Piccolo rolled his shoulders, settling it in place.

“Gohan, the purple cufflinks.” Mr. Piccolo’s voice rattled him and Gohan rushed to his dresser and stared down into a rather large box filled with cufflinks and tie tacks of all colors and shapes. Its contents amazed him; his father had only owned two different kinds, the fancy one that he wore to church, and the everyday one he got from Grandpa Gohan. His fingers lingered as they grazed over several and he stared at five different sets of purple cufflinks and tie tacks.

“Ah…” He glanced back at his Don, his eyes running over the rich black of his suit with the purple shirt beneath and the deep ruby of the vest he wore above it.

“Hurry.”

Reaching in, Gohan grabbed a trio of red gems and he rushed back, fumbling with the cuffs of Mr. Piccolo’s sleeves. With a bit of struggling, he managed to slip the first cufflink into the button holes and he screwed the other into place, twin red winking from the sleeve.

Mr. Piccolo frowned, twisting his wrist to stare at the jewels.

Gohan’s face drained of color and after feeling so hot and flushed, he felt chilled to the bone and hollow. “Aw…you said, purple, s-sorry! Sorry!” He fumbled, reaching for the sleeve.

Simply lifting his hand from him, Piccolo considered the cufflinks then raised a brow, forcing Gohan to stare at him and nowhere else. “Why did you pick these?”

He stood frozen in place, hands shaking. “Aw…I-I don’t know…I…I suppose I thought it matched?”

Mr. Piccolo considered him a moment then the cufflinks and he then dropped his hand to his side, offering Gohan his other wrist.

It felt a little like a dream, really. Mr. Piccolo wasn’t going to punish him for his slip-up? Did that mean he did something right? Or was Mr. Piccolo simply allowing him to finish so he could then take him out and beat him for not listening? Mr. Piccolo always wanted him to pay attention.

Gohan tightened the cufflink in place; and though he felt a little dread in his belly, he liked the red. It seemed as if he had the eyes of a dragon resting along his wrists.

Mr. Piccolo grunted and Gohan raised his face, swallowing hard as he tried to access what that grunt meant. There were so many kinds with Mr. Piccolo.

“Don’t bother changing them. I like it better anyway. Nail was the one who insisted everything match.” Piccolo tossed Gohan his jacket and Gohan snatched at it before he dropped it. He smiled a little, shy and pleased and Mr. Piccolo looked away quickly, turning. Gohan held his jacket up and Mr. Piccolo’s arms slid inside. He reached up to smooth the jacket along his shoulders and back and he helped him tug the sleeves of his shirt down so it rested comfortably within. 

Gohan returned a moment later with an off-white colored tie with a pinstripe of red slicing sideways across its fabric. He stood upon a chair, his arms reaching around Mr. Piccolo’s neck to tug his collar up so he could wrap the silk around him. He thought it rather funny that Mr. Piccolo didn’t know how to tie his own tie. Even he had learned early on how to do it. His mother had insisted on it, saying that one day his wife could help him, but until then, he needed to know how to take care of himself. He caught his Don’s eyes and he smiled, wrapping the tie around and then up before threading it through the loop he had created.

Mr. Piccolo dropped his gaze and Gohan tilted his head, frowning. He sighed, smoothing the silk around his neck, adjusting his collar and tightening the knot till it rested perfectly against his throat – not too tight but just square enough that he looked pressed and put together. The white was so stark and savage against the rich jewels of his suit, it somehow completed him. Gohan suddenly hoped he could one day be as tall as him. He wanted to be able to look Piccolo in the eye like this all the time.

Smoothing the suit once more and brushing away any lint, Gohan decided this job wouldn’t be so bad. Mr. Piccolo’s broad shoulders felt like a wall of power that screamed that no one would be able to get past him if he deemed them unworthy, and the colors suited him perfectly, complimenting even his green skin in that imposing way that he had said he wanted to look. As his Don turned around, staring up at him due to the chair, Gohan’s cheeks colored and he reached out, straightening his tie once again and then gently stuck a red gem tie tack in the center of his chest.

Piccolo didn’t look away from him and Gohan wondered why it made his belly flutter.

“There.” He said, his voice cracking.

Mr. Piccolo turned and looked in the large, full length mirror attached to the inside of his wardrobe. He adjusted his tie just a hint at the throat, tugging the lapels of his jacket smooth, and Gohan reached out to him, brushing away invisible dirt from his shoulder and he blushed, catching Mr. Piccolo’s eyes staring at him through the mirror. It was odd, staring at one another like this, neither facing the other and yet they were eye locked.

His antennae twitched suddenly and Piccolo turned around, breaking their gaze and he turned to him, staring at him evenly, once again eye to eye due to the chair Gohan stood upon. “Good. Now go downstairs and have the cook prepare my breakfast and bring it to me in my office.”

Gohan nodded quickly and hopped off the chair, hurrying to the door – only to pause and rush back to the chair and he pushed it back under the table and then left.

He caught the small smile Piccolo shot after him before he closed the door – and Gohan couldn’t help but smile to himself, his face warm. Mr. Piccolo was pleased with him!

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

“Get up.”

Gohan panted, staring up at Mr. Piccolo. He liked their sparing sessions, really! He was just so tired at the moment. They had been sparing for over 2 hours and Piccolo looked as though he didn’t have any intention of stopping any time soon. “But-“

Piccolo’s hand reached down, yanking Gohan to his feet and he snarled in his face. “No excuses! Your enemies will not be so kind.”

He nodded quickly, gripping at Mr. Piccolo’s wrists to hold himself up. He enjoyed their sparing sessions because it broke up the series of monotonous days he lived within. Waking up, dressing Mr. Piccolo, making his tea, cleaning his room, washing the floors, helping the cook, Launch, by doing the dishes as she made lunch in the afternoons and at dinner. It was all a series of routines and nothing ever changed really. Even the conversations stayed about the same. There was a comfort in knowing there was a consistency, but even then, Gohan longed for something that kept him on his toes; and their daily sparring sessions did just that for him. He looked forward to them and the harder he pushed himself, the harder Piccolo urged him to reach greater heights of achievement. Every plateau he successfully left and climbed toward the next, Piccolo became more and more quick to teach him new skills with a glint of pride in his eyes.

Slowly but surely, Gohan began learning the Namekian fighting style and taking to it quickly. It was fluid and no movement was made unless it served some purpose – such the opposite from boxing! He wondered if his father would be able to fight against a namekian warrior like Piccolo and not come away just as bloodied and hurt (because he secretly believed in his heart that his father could still win any fight, even against Mr. Piccolo).

“Good, now get back to work.” He dropped Gohan and the boy barely kept himself from falling backward onto his rear end. He staggered backward, found his footing and then instantly ducked as Piccolo’s fist swung toward him. It sailed over his head and Gohan crossed his arms, bracing himself and blocking the knee that would have connected with his nose.

“Good!”

They danced together, a strange fluid dance that left Gohan a little flushed as his Don pinned him to the ground. Mr. Piccolo stood and offered his hand to Gohan, and he blushed as he gripped it and he pulled to his feet. Mr. Piccolo’s grip held him firm and Gohan looked up at him, even after having grown a few inches in the last few years, he was still so much taller than him. It seemed so unfair; he wanted to be taller-

A popping sound echoed through the arena. Piccolo’s face hardened and he staggered forward till he forced Gohan to jump backward several steps. Piccolo gasped, his hand reaching for him. He fell to a knee, gripping the other with a gagged breath.

“Mr. Piccolo?” Gohan stepped forward, hand raised, his heart instantly in his throat.

Blood erupted from Piccolo’s mouth and splattered across his face and chest and into the  arena dirt. Mr. Piccolo reached for him, grabbing his shoulder and he shoved,.  him to the ground, “Get down!” He ordered, wiping at his mouth with his other hand and he turned, looking around the open space and then ducked as a second shot fired and a puff of dirt exploded to their left.

Gohan lifted his head, eyes wide and his heart racing. He couldn’t hear anything anymore and Piccolo was standing up! Why was he standing up? He had blood spreading across his chest.

“Come on!” He snarled and Gohan felt Piccolo grab his shoulder, yanking him back to his feet.

Nail raced across the area, a green blur of motion that zigged and zagged till he leapt over a fence, diving into the bushes where a shout rose. Nail and a man rose, struggling with a rifle between them.

“Nail!” Gohan shouted.

“Move it!” Piccolo shoved him backward, stepping in front of him, putting himself between the assassin and Gohan, “Run to the house, get the other En-“

Mr. Piccolo’s back exploded outward and Piccolo groaned, dropping to his knees, a hand pressing to his chest where two new holes had burrowed into his flesh.

Gohan stared, watching the purple namekian blood drip out of Piccolo, covering the arena, staining the floor and slicking his skin. A puddle formed under Piccolo instantly, growing larger with every beat of his heart. Gohan couldn’t remember the scream he let loose, but he felt it after he grabbed Piccolo, stepping in front of him, shielding him from the second shooter; because that’s who it had to be, a secondary assassin. He screamed again and this time Gohan heard it.

Shattered. Broken. Absolutely desperate. He screamed and grabbed his Don’s shirt, pulling him against him, hugging him tight, “ _Mr. Piccolo! Mr. Piccolo! Mr. Piccolo!”_   over and over; it was all he could think about. Mr. Piccolo could die! He couldn’t die, he couldn’t leave him! He felt water hit his hand and only then did he process the fact tears poured from his eyes, his cheeks sopping wet.

Nail shouted, taking chase after the assassin he had found in the bushes. Gohan trembled and he helped Mr. Piccolo roll onto his back, his brows furrowed deeply as he gasped for breathe. Gohan twisted about, screaming, “Help!” His throat hurt from his screaming and he felt sticky from the purple blood as he pressed down on the wound, trying to keep his Don’s blood from escaping him. A shadow approached them, smooth, and confident, no hesitation in his steps.

“Help!” Gohan screamed, his tail hidden between his legs. “Mr. Piccolo!” He cried, begging him and demanding him all at the same time.

The shadow formed into a man with a long beard, dark glasses perched on his nose, a hat upon his head and a suit with an emblem emblazed upon the left chest pocket. He reached into his jacket and without a quiver in his hand he raised a pistol and pointed it towards Piccolo’s head.

Gohan roared a guttural sound that made his chest hurt and his muscles hot. He leapt at the man, punching him hard in the stomach followed by a qiuck upper cut as he doubled over in surprised pain.

The man fell backward, but in a twirl of dust and in his pinstripe suit, he was back on his feet and he backhanded Gohan, sending the boy crashing to the ground.

He landed hard, holding his cheek, but he was on his feet instantly, his tail bristled and standing on end. Gohan ducked, bobbing out of his way, weaving under the assassin’s punches and Gohan struck again. He leapt into the air, hands grasping into joined fists and with a roar, he hammered them down upon the man’s head. They dropped together in a heap and Gohan pounced, kneeling on his arms to keep the man down and his little fists flew, smashing the assassin’s nose, blackening his eyes and all the while he screamed.

Hands grabbed at him from behind and he kicked out, twisting and snarling. He vaguely remembered the taste of blood as he turned and bit at a hand trying to pull him away from Mr. Piccolo’s attacker, the man who tried to kill his Don! But a hard, cold slap jolted him from his bloodlust and he stared up at Nail with a quiver, raw fingers touching his cheek.

“Enough.”

Nail ordered and Gohan felt something in him crack. Tears slid down his face, hot and fast. “He hurt, Mr. Piccolo…” he bowed his head and a sob escaped him.

“I know.” Nail’s voice hardened and he waved a hand, dismissing one of the Enforcer’s that had obviously dragged him off the man. “Mr. Piccolo is hurt. He was shot.”

Gohan shook, his legs giving out and he sat down hard in the dust of the arena. Nail’s fingers dug into his upper arm, the namekian dropping to a knee in front of him. His heart hurt. It ached at the very idea that Mr. Piccolo could have…could be....

“Mr. Piccolo.” He hiccupped, wiping at his face. His head hurt too; but he had to know; he had to know if his Don was gone.

Nail frowned, deep and he shook his head.

Gohan choked.

“I don’t know.” Nail finally said, shaking his head with a pained knot between his brows. “He’s hurt, badly; and he’s lost a lot of blood. We have our medics working on him right now, but…” he swallowed hard and Gohan leaned forward, hiding against Nail’s chest and clutching at his clothing.

“I don’t want him to die.” He choked out.

“I know. I don’t want him too either.” Nail said, laying a hand on Gohan’s shoulder that had teeth marks puncturing his flesh.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

He cleaned the house. But there wasn’t anyone there. He read a few books. But he didn’t remember a single thing he read. He sat by his bed at night, resting his cheek against his Don’s mattress, hoping Nail wouldn’t find him and not caring at the same time, because he just wanted Mr. Piccolo back. It was a week before the namekian medics said he had stabilized enough to see anyone. He remained asleep for another three days after that, and when he finally awoke, Gohan sat in the hallway, bordering the front door and staring at the wall blankly as the hours ticked by. Waiting and waiting; and Gohan couldn’t think about anything except wanting Nail to come home right then and tell him what happened.

Gohan didn’t know what he felt anymore. He felt empty and hollow, like he wanted to cry every second of the day that this horrible silence filled the house. The same house that used to be filled with barked orders, snapped replies, and intense red eyes that seemed to just tell him exactly what he wanted and Gohan would do it. He wanted to scream and kick, and other times he wanted to fall down and simply not move. He hid his face in his arms, his knees pulled up tight to his chest, and he trembled.

It was dark outside before Nail came home. Gohan vaguely remembered feeling hungry at one point during the day, but he hadn’t gotten up to eat.

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Gohan sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. “Is he going to be all right?”

Nail grunted, shutting the door and pulling his fedora from his head, placing it on the coat rack. “He should recover just fine. The medics have stabilized him and Don Piccolo’s regenerative cells have already begun healing the bullet wounds. I’m surprised it took him this long to heal. The medics theorize there was poison coating the bullets.”

Gohan held his breath, his fingers tightening upon his knees and he felt like his heart was going to thump out of his chest.

Nail pulled his coat off and hung it up himself, holding onto the shoulders for a moment staring at the fabric of his coat before he turned to look down at him. Gohan blushed and looked away.  Not thinking clearly wasn’t a reason to shirk his duties.

“Well?” Nail asked, his hands dropping and he stepped closer, one of his shiny shoes nudging Gohan’s second hand and worn out shoes.

“Can I see him?” He croaked out, looking down to his hands and he trembled.

“It’s very inappropriate for a slave to ask such a thing.” Nail said and Gohan didn’t need to look up to see the glare, he could practically taste it and Nail’s disapproval.

Gohan nodded, but his throat closed off and his eyes burned. It wouldn’t be appropriate to cry. He was old enough to not need to cry about every little thing. Yet, this wasn’t a little thing and not seeing Mr. Piccolo made Gohan’s whole body hurt. He nodded again, wiping at his eyes with the back of his arm and his tail wrapped about his waist all the tighter.

A heavy sigh brought him out of his near tears and Gohan raised his head, gazing up at Nail. The namekian glared back at him, putting his hat back onto his head and he pulled his coat off the hanger. “Get your coat. We’re leaving.”

Gohan climbed to his feet and did just that, pulling his cap onto his head and wrapping himself into his coat. Gohan stepped outside with him and sat in the front seat next to Nail as they drove along the bumpy roads to the hospital Mr. Piccolo was staying at. The building itself was red brick on the outside, and white wash on the inside. It smelled like bleach. Gohan followed Nail, his stomach twisting the further they walked. He could smell him the moment they turned the corner into the hallway his room was located and Gohan's steps picked up the pace, hurrying down the hallway as quickly as he could without running; and he stopped just outside of the open doorway.

Mr. Piccolo's room was dark with only a sliver of moonlight to highlight his features. But it was him. He could not only see him now, but he smelled him and he knew his heart beat strong.

"Not so fast." Nail whispered, his hand falling on Gohan's shoulder. Gohan jumped and it was then he realized he had walked right past two Enforcers standing guard in front of Piccolo's room and had completely ignored the namekian nurse checking Mr. Piccolo and writing on one of his little clipboards.

Gohan swallowed hard, staring past the nurse till he exited and then Nail's hand fell away and he rushed forward, stopping instantly at the side of Mr. Piccolo's bed and staring down at him, his hands knotting his shirt up in his fists at his stomach, holding onto anything so he wouldn't feel sick just staring at him. He opened his mouth and shut it, his lower lip trembling.

Piccolo's eyes flickered suddenly and as his tired red eyes met his, for several minutes they just stared at one another. Gohan offered a small smile, his lip trembling and his eyes warm, but he didn’t want the relief that washed over him to go away. He was okay, he was awake. Mr. Piccolo grunted then turned his head, gazing up at him squarely with a slow raise of his brow. Gohan’s cheeks flushed hot. "Hello, Mr. Piccolo. I hope you are feeling better."

His face twisted in a rather disgusted and tired looking scowl. "Stupid question."

Gohan shifted from one foot to the other sheepishly, his face warming. “Ar…are you all right?”

Piccolo snorted then flinched, his eyes closing and his brow knotting together. “I got shot. What do you think?”

He blushed deeper and shrugged slightly, staring down at Mr. Piccolo’s hand for some time. It was so stupid to have asked that question. Of course he wouldn’t be feeling very good. He was shot! A hiss brought him back. Piccolo shifted on the bed, his face contorting into pain. Gohan reached for him, his hands lying against Mr. Piccolo’s shoulders and he felt so small suddenly, comparing his hands to Mr. Piccolo’s shoulders.

“Don’t move, just lay still.”

"Nail? Nail!" Piccolo snapped, wincing as he was forced back down onto the mattress.

"Yes Don?" Nail stepped forward and into the room, standing just inside of the doorway; so broad and tall, silhouetted by the lights outside in the hallway.

"Why isn't the brat in bed?" Piccolo hissed and Gohan blushed.

Nail raised a brow, clasping a hand around his opposite wrist. “Because he won't go to bed. He wanted to see you."

Mr. Piccolo raised a brow, "And who is the adult?" he snapped, struggling a little to sit back up and letting out a groan in his throat.

Nail bowed his head and turned, stepping out of the room with a grunt. Piccolo glared at him, trying to raise a hand to push Gohan’s hand away, but he cringed from the pain and finally laid himself back down, staring up at the ceiling.

“Please, just calm down.” Gohan asked, his hands shaking as he hovered above his Don.

“I’m uncomfortable.” Mr. Piccolo growled.

Gohan flinched, shifting away from him, rocking on his feet from his toes to his heels. The namekian’s face shadowed a bit and Gohan stared at Mr. Piccolo’s hand instead, his fingers tugging on the edge of his jacket. “Sorry.” He whispered, hunching his shoulders around his ears. “I’ve just been worried. If you hadn’t stepped in front of me, that bullet would have hit me.” He whispered, and he felt a blush color his cheeks.

The silence filled the space between them and Gohan closed his eyes, his whole body quivering and his belly flipping in an empty void. It felt horrible.

 “It wasn’t like I did it on purpose.” Mr. Piccolo said.

He jerked his head up and stared at him, his tail lashing wildly at the air behind him. “I…I know!” His voice broke and he fidgeted with the edge of his coat. “I just…I don’t know. I feel like I need to thank you.”

Mr. Piccolo snorted, “Well fine, you thanked me.”

He glowered at him and Gohan felt a smile tug at his face, his fingers moving to rest on the edge of the bed, next to Mr. Piccolo’s hand. “If…If I learn to fight better,” He stared, his heart racing and his mind unsettled, “could I perhaps learn to protect you? Properly?”

Piccolo scowled up at him. “Protect me?” He looked away then, staring up at the ceiling, his brows turned down in a severe look and his hand curled into a fist. His eyes drooped, and Gohan realized how tired Mr. Piccolo still looked. “You did well in protecting me already.” Mr. Piccolo’s voice quieted, firm, but still very weak as he laid there in front of him, shrouded in the dark with hints of moonlight catching his eyes.

Swallowing hard, Gohan inched closer, his fingers sliding shyly around Mr. Piccolo’s wrist. “So, does that mean I can…keep you safe?”

His Don opened his eyes and the red pierced through him. It warmed him, scared him, it coalesced around him and he felt if for only a moment as if Mr. Piccolo was seeing only him. The tip of his tail flicked several times.

“Nail told me you fought well. You didn’t back down and got right back up after being knocked down.” Piccolo’s eyes narrowed, “But you still need to work hard. To protect me, you have to train to be an Enforcer and a Bodyguard. Both are hard work, Gohan.”

Nodding quick and sharp, Gohan bent over him, “I want to be your Bodyguard, I swear! I want to keep you safe and…and…” He blushed, jerking his eyes away from him.

Piccolo turned back to him, raising a brow, “It’s not easy work, Gohan, you have to be willing to hurt anyone who threatens me; kill even. I have to be able to trust you with my life.”

“I’ve already saved your life, and you’ve saved mine twice.” Gohan whispered, his fingers wrapping about Piccolo’s hand and he blushed at the brow twitch that brought out of Mr. Piccolo. “I-I want to keep you safe now, too. And, I…and I just know you are a good man.”

“I’m a namek.”

Gohan smiled, “You’re a good namek.” He said, voice dropping to a hushed sigh.

His long green ears discolored with a hint of purple rising to the surface. “Just go away, I’m tired.”

Tightening his fingers around Mr. Piccolo’s wrist, Gohan swallowed hard, his heart racing. “Please?”

His Don grunted, eyes closed and his fist falling open. “Only if you learn to dodge the damn bullets.” He mumbled.

“Okay.” Gohan answered, nodding.

“Good.” Piccolo whispered as he fell asleep. Nail’s hand touched Gohan’s shoulder and the boy blushed, jerking his hands away from Mr. Piccolo’s wrist.

 “I’ll start your training tomorrow.” Nail said and Gohan smiled sheepish but overjoyed at the older namek's words, but Nail didn’t look at him. He simply stared at Mr. Piccolo and Gohan looked back to his sleeping Don, his belly flipping.

“I want to stay here with him.” Gohan said and he knew his face had turned red.

Nail didn’t say anything, he simply turned and pulled a spare chair closer to the bed. “Don’t disturb him.”

“I won’t.”

He took a seat on the other side of the bed, bowing his head and shadowing his face with the brim of his hat. Gohan sat down, inching the chair even closer to the bed. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of his Don and he leaned forward, resting his head on the mattress next to Mr. Piccolo’s shoulder. He heard Nail move in his chair, but when no reprimand came he curled up a bit closer to him, peeking at Piccolo’s sleeping face then back down to his hand laying lose and open on the bed. He fingered the bedding, the blankets just warm enough to stay comfortable, but light and thin, and he wondered if Mr. Piccolo was warm enough. He closed his eyes and every muscle in his body relaxed; even his tail finally settled from its constant movement, and Gohan sighed. He felt better than he had in days. Mr. Piccolo was safe and here with him, and Nail was there with them. They were safe here. Mr. Piccolo would be all right and he’d be better in no time. He just knew it.

Gohan slipped his hand over his Don’s bicep, holding to his warmth as the first restful sleep claimed them all.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nail doesn't come home.

~~~~~9~~~~~

~~~~~1 year later~~~~~

12 Years old

 

“I’ll be back shortly.” Nail bowed his head, and Piccolo nodded, sealing the envelope before he offered the deposit to him.

“See to it that Charles distributes it accordingly.”

“Of course, Don Piccolo.” He turned and slid the deposit into the inside pocket of his vest.

“Mr. Piccolo, I don’t understand why I can’t go-“

“Because you are becoming insolent and willful!” Piccolo snapped. Gohan shrank back, his tail sliding between his legs. He saw Nail glance back at him before he closed the door and he swallowed hard. He had gone with Nail the last three times to the bank. It was always fun. Nail had given him a penny the first time they had gone on this outing, and as they had passed the bakery shop, Gohan had bought himself a large day-old sweet bun.

Nail had grumbled and glared at him that first day, but he had warmed to having him with him on his outings, and if Gohan was good while standing in line at the bank, Nail would give him a penny every time as a reward. He didn’t know why, Nail certainly didn’t have to do such a thing. It was so nice of him.

But Mr. Piccolo had demanded he stay home today and Gohan couldn’t help but be disappointed. He liked Nail, even if Nail sometimes acted like he didn’t like him in return.

He heard the engine outside turn over and as the rattling car faded away, he knew Nail was gone. He looked to his shoes, tugging on the hem of his shirt. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t do anything wrong all week. He had been good and done all his chores, he had trained even harder than usual, and Gohan just knew Mr. Piccolo was keeping him home because Nail had told him he was being nice to him.

Two hours ticked by, long and boring and Gohan shuffled about, sighing heavily now and then. His Don would glance at him, reading over some paperwork before writing something at the bottom, his handwriting cramped and sharp. As the bell chimed three, Gohan fidgeted, glancing to the door. Nail should have been back by now.

“Mr. Piccolo-“

“I didn’t say you could speak.” He snapped, his fingers tightening around his pen.

“But Nail-“

“Will be back when he has finished with my business.” He bowed his head, scratching out something with a heavy hand before he wrote something to the side. His antennae twitched.

Gohan licked his lips and glanced at the clock, watching the minutes tick by till it was fifteen after. “He should be back by now.”

Mr. Piccolo scowled and slammed his hand down upon his desk and stood sharply from his chair, and stabbed a finger toward the door. “Go outside! I want you to scrub the stairs till they shine! You hear me?”

He shrank away from Mr. Piccolo, his throat tightening and he nodded, blinking his eyes rapidly. He was just worried about Nail. He hurried out the door, sniffling and suddenly so very angry at Mr. Piccolo, and yet, hurt because Mr. Piccolo yelled – it wasn’t fair. He was old enough now to understand what was going on. Why didn’t Mr. Piccolo see that? He knew they didn’t do nice things all the time, but he had proven himself, hadn’t he? He wanted to help Mr. Piccolo. He wanted to help Nail because Mr. Piccolo trusted Nail so much. Why did they still treat him like a child? After all, he now was the same age as when Mr. Piccolo became Don.

He scrubbed harder than he should, trying hard not to cry, and mopping drops of moisture that splashed into the suds, telling himself it was just sweat. He worked his way down the stairs, stopping to refill the bucket with fresh water and lye half way down.

His tail lashed at the air, and for a few minutes he calmed himself because Mr. Piccolo was right, he was his slave, he shouldn’t have a say in anything. Yet, anger welled up inside and he snarled at the scrub brush, slapped it onto the steps with a furious vigor, and scrubbed. He was supposed to grow up and be Mr. Piccolo’s Bodyguard! Who ever heard of a Bodyguard to a Don scrubbing floors?

The clock chimed five and Gohan paused, staring at the cherry wood mantel with the little curved clock atop it with the shining glass face, and he swallowed hard. He sat up slowly, the brush limp in his pruned and aching fingers.

He looked to the door, to the coat rack, to the kitchen, but he couldn’t smell Nail. He eased himself to his feet, his steps cautious as he approached Mr. Piccolo’s study and knocked, his breathes short and fast.

“What?” Mr. Piccolo barked from within and Gohan stepped inside, his heart fluttering.

“Nail isn’t back yet.” He said, and his tail wrapped itself around his waist.

Mr. Piccolo’s lips pursed and he tapped his claws upon the desk, red eyes boring into him. Gohan saw then just how aware his Don was. He wasn’t being cold, he was trying to stay calm as the situation became all the more dire as the seconds ticked by.

“Get my coat. I need to visit my uncle.” Mr. Piccolo stood then, buttoning his cufflinks, his shoulders stiff and back ramrod straight.

Gohan stepped into the parlor, pulling Mr. Piccolo’s coat and hat from the rack, his eyes wide. Visiting Lord Guru… willingly? He swallowed and turned, nearly running into his Don’s belly. He apologized even as he rumbled and helped Mr. Piccolo with his long coat. He abruptly had his own jacket tossed in his face and Gohan didn’t question the silent order. He pulled it on and followed his Don, his shorter legs pumping to keep up with the smooth and even strides of the much taller namekian.

Upon arriving, Dende opened the door, and the largest smile Gohan had ever seen was pointed in his direction. He waved shyly then peeked up at Mr. Piccolo.

“Don Piccolo, follow me. Father…I mean, Lord Guru, is this way.” He stepped aside, ushering them in. The plush carpets gave under their shoes as if the rich colors themselves made the carpets so thick. The library on the right opened, and one of the many Enforcers Lord Guru kept on stepped out of the room from a wave of their master’s hand.

Lord Guru was larger than he remembered, filling his chair with an over pouring of flesh. He grunted and looked away to stare at the fire, his antennae twitching. “Look whose here. My nephew and his boy-toy.”

“Enough, I am here on urgent business.”

“I told you, I will not let the weaklings live!” his voice echoed through the room, terrible and drawling.

Mr. Piccolo’s hands curled into fists and Gohan reached for him, taking his wrist with wide eyes pleading for him to stay calm.

With a jerk of his hand away from his, Mr. Piccolo stalked up to the oversized chair and bowed forward, nearly touching antennae with his uncle. “Your son is missing.”

“Which one? I have so many!” He laughed and the roar of pride at that statement wasn’t easily missed.

“Nail.”

Guru sobered instantly and he blinked at Piccolo with a frown forming over his wrinkled face. “Nail…Nail!” He yelled, glancing over his shoulder toward the door, as if expecting him to step inside. “Nail!” he roared and Gohan shrank back.

Guru struggled to stand, but his massive bulk refused to release him from gravity. He huffed and panted and reached for Mr. Piccolo’s arm, gripping his elbow. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I sent him to the bank to deposit…a special something. He never returned.” Piccolo brushed Guru’s hand from him and Guru gripped at his chair instead, nails digging into the fabric. “I need your men-“

“Done. Dende!”

The door opened and the face of the young namekian child appeared, round and with eyes that reminded Gohan of Nail. He was so small, just a little shorter than he was, and his small hands played with the hem of his paperboy vest. “Yes father- Lord Guru?” Dende asked.

“Gather your brothers. Nail is missing.”

Dende nodded quickly, eyes wide and antennae rising in alarm. He rushed from the room and Guru again groaned as he struggled to lift himself from the chair. He finally pulled himself out of its depths and waddled across the room, picking up a cane along the way.

“Take your saiyan to the bank. See what he can find. I will send a dozen of my children to the docks, the rest will begin combing the city-“

“No.” Piccolo’s hard voice rose and Guru stopped, leaning heavy and dumbfounded upon the gold leaf cane.

“No? You do not tell me what to do!”

“I need your men to do nothing; in fact, I want the majority of them to return home and leave only the most essential to remain outside of the compound. I don’t want another taken in hopes of gaining family secrets. It is what Nail would advice. If he truly was taken and we begin searching for him, it will only alert his kidnappers as to just how valuable he is. If they believe him nothing more than a henchman, they may release him; or end him quickly.”

Gohan’s head spun. End him? Mr. Piccolo didn’t really thing that they would kill Nail, did he? He didn’t want Nail to die. He swallowed hard, and he couldn’t stop himself from wiping at his eyes. His head hurt, nose stuffed up, and his lip began to tremble.

He didn’t really pay attention after that, Gohan did look at Dende after he came back, a dozen of his eldest brothers rushing in behind him, and another dozen or more of Guru’s sons – who were large and heavily muscled Enforcers – they waited outside, leaning in to listen. Dende stood next to him and took his hand. His hand was warm and it fit snug against his. He gripped at Dende, his tail wrapped about his waist or thigh, flickering back and forth now and then the longer he thought about Nail out there alone and being hurt. He stared at the ground, their backs to the wall, only half listening. Mr. Piccolo didn’t talk much, but when he did, there was always a lot of shouting. Gohan wiped at his eyes and Dende’s hand squeezed his.

“Gohan!” Mr. Piccolo barked and Gohan jumped, hurrying to his side before he realized it. “We’re leaving!” He snarled and Gohan followed after him, peeking over his shoulder.

Lord Guru’s head was bowed, his arms and legs shaking. His sons went to his side and helped their father back to his chair, but it wasn’t reassuring.

He walked beside Mr. Piccolo, his fingers cold as summer faded and the nights chilled, leaving frost on the windows as fall approached from the north. They moved up the steps to Mr. Piccolo’s home and Gohan stopped, eyes raised as he looked to his Don. His hard red eyes focused on him with a sliver of a frown.

“Are we going to leave him out there?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Gohan’s lip trembled. But he was Nail. They couldn’t leave him out there. What if he was hurt and trying to get home?

Piccolo closed his eyes and released a sigh, his shoulders finally falling just enough that Gohan rushed forward and threw his arms about Mr. Piccolo’s waist, his face hiding against his chest. He wouldn’t cry! He wasn’t a baby. He sniffled anyway.

“Nail is the strongest and the most intelligent namekian I know. Even if he is hurt, he will find his way home. Understand?”

“But what if he needs us? What if he is waiting for us to help and he is wondering where we are?” He spoke into his chest, and his tail wrapped around Mr. Piccolo’s waist, and Gohan didn’t care.

Piccolo sighed, his whole body moving against his with a rushing exhale that sounded like distant thunder. “He isn’t waiting for us. Nail would never ask for our help. His loyalty to me is unmatched. He would never risk his Don. Even for his own life.”

Gohan sniffled, inhaling Piccolo’s scent and allowing that action to minutely calm his nerves. “He’s loyal to you.” He said, allowing that statement to also linger on his tongue, heavy with meaning and seeping understanding. Nail wouldn’t give Mr. Piccolo away, not even to some bandits that took him from them.

“What if he never comes back?” Gohan lifted his head, looking up at Mr. Piccolo, once again struck by how young he looked and truly was. He was his Don, he was in charge of the entire namekian Family. But for a split second, he saw just a fifteen year old namek named Piccolo, who was just as sad as he was at the loss of a friend who may never come home.

“Then we stay strong and find the bastards who took him.”

Gohan smiled slowly, and though it was sad and he felt tears in his eyes, he nodded, determination taking over. Mr. Piccolo was right. He always knew what to do. He liked Nail, he truly did, but somehow, even gone, Nail had taught him a great lesson. He had to protect who was most important to him. Mr. Piccolo was everything. Without him, the Family would fall. Without him, Gohan would have been a beaten animal in a cage. He gave him a chance and Gohan would prove to everyone that he was Mr. Piccolo’s rightful Bodyguard.

Pushed away, Mr. Piccolo grumbled and turned and stepped into his house. He took his hat off and tossed it at Gohan. “Go clean up the mess you made on the stairs and come to the study in an hour. I want to hear a selection from Dickens tonight.”

He hung up their jackets and did as told, cleaning up his mess and going to the kitchens to get his dinner, and to prepare Mr. Piccolo’s evening meal – a large mug of tea with several sticks of celery.

He set the book upon the tray and knocked on Mr. Piccolo’s door before he entered. The room felt smaller than usual, the roses carved into his desk seemed to dance as the light from the fireplace flickered and made the wood shine and cast shadows across its hidden places. But Mr. Piccolo wasn’t at his desk anymore, he sat in the ring of chairs facing the fire, in the far one beside the grate. It had the best light, and he approached him, setting the tray down upon the end table as gently as possible.

Mr. Piccolo took his tea, leaning back in his wing backed chair, his eyes closed and he waved his hand, motioning for him to begin.

Gohan sat before the fire by his knee, the dime novel opened in his lap. “The Signal-Man.” He cleared his throat.

 

_“Halloa! Below there!”_

_When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his hand, furled round its short pole. One would have thought, considering the nature of the ground, that he could not have doubted from what quarter the voice came; but instead of looking up to where I stood on the top of the steep cutting nearly over his head, he turned himself about, and looked down the Line.-_

 

It soothed him, reading, and he smiled as he felt Mr. Piccolo’s leg press to his side, and his hand rest atop his head. Though he missed Nail and still worried about him with a knotted lump in his belly that weighed on his heart and made him wonder what would have happened if he had been there to help Nail, Gohan also knew Nail wouldn’t want him grieving over him. Nail would be angry if he knew he had cried over him. One thing he knew for certain in this tumultuous uncertainty concerning Nail, it was that Nail would want him to serve and protect their Don. He could do that. He would always continue to do so, to honor his Don and to honor Nail’s loyalty.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

 Insert Spacefille's story:

[“A Day in the Life of a Mafia Namekian”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2764694)

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

“You’re late.” Guru bellowed and Nail sighed, rubbing at his temple. His father was too much to handle, and today was most certainly one of those days. He stepped into his parlor and stood tall and poised, his eyes staring over the top of his father’s head. Guru grunted and waved his hand and Nail saw Dende from the corner of his eye walk over with a cup of discolored water.

Guru took the glass and drank deeply from it, sighing greatly as he leaned his head back and relaxed in his chair. “You appear well. Did the saiyan trash make you their bitch?”

“No.” He reached around, grasping his hands behind his back as his shoulders tightened. He would address his father pleasantly, just as he had from the moment of his hatching, and he would bow and bid him farewell before he returned to his Don and the saiyan brat who had followed him around the house for the last three days like a puppy unwilling to let him out of his sights. He had thought it annoying when Gohan heeled and followed Don Piccolo obediently, but he found it downright aggravating to have the child do the same to him.

“Good.” Guru bobbed his head, his jowls wobbling grotesquely. “You have the heart of a true warrior. I am proud. Though next time you are kidnapped, don’t be such a little bitch and slaughter them all!”

Nail sighed and momentarily closed his eyes and bowed his head. He counted to three before he looked to his father and nodded once. “Yes, Lord Guru. As you wish.”

“Even Dende knows not to take any prisoners.”

“I didn’t take any prisoners, Lord Gu-“

“That’s right you didn’t, because you destroyed them!” he laughed; then a cough erupted and he leaned forward, coughing into his hand. Dende stepped forward and Nail’s hands fell to his sides, his brows knotted.

“Drink your medicine, father.” Dende whispered, gently urging Guru to drink from the glass once again.

Nail swallowed, his throat bobbing. He hadn’t realized their father was sick.

“Dende,” Guru said, handing the glass to his youngest child, “go and fetch me another glass. I need to speak with Nail.”

Dende hesitated but he nodded and left the room, taking a peek up at his brother on the way out. The door clicked shut and Guru settled upon his chair, his head bowed, and he stared into the fire. He looked old. Older than Nail was used to seeing him. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised, but it was the shadow within his eyes that stayed his hand from leaving or demanding an explanation.

“Don Piccolo made the right call.” Guru said and turned his head.

“He often does, Lord Guru.” The conviction in his voice needn’t be faked. If he had learned one thing from Don Piccolo in the last several years of his service, it was that he would be the catalyst that finally launched the nameks into a new age. He would bring change and a new growth to their people and the fire that burned in his chest again confirmed his earnest belief that Piccolo would be the one to change the fate of their race in this foreign land forever – and for the best. His loyalty for this one namek overshadowed all other desires. He loved his Don, and his Don would see greatness rise in his wake no matter what Nail had to do to make his dreams happen.

“I demanded a search party be sent out for you, whether to bring you back alive or your lifeless corpse, I wanted my son back.”

Nail blinked, his mouth dropping open in surprise. He had never heard his father refer to him with such endearment.

“But Don Piccolo, he stayed my hand, he stated his case and put me in my place.” He looked to him then and Nail snapped his mouth closed, his belly twisting with the gleam in his father’s eyes. “He told me my son would never be compromised – and you weren’t. You have proven yourself to your Don, to your people, and for that, you are an example to all nameks everywhere that our Don is ready to lead.”

He stood still, his mind buzzing. Nail sipped in breaths of air, because it was time.

“You have guided the Don well-“

“I never guided him. I stood at his side and advised him, but he always made his own decisions. He is a Don that will lead us-“

“He is the Don of Dons. With you at his side, you have given both our families much to look forward to in the years to come.”

Nail narrowed his eyes. His father’s scheming would be noted and reported to Don Piccolo, but his words were also true – Don Piccolo has finally come of age.

Lord Guru studied his son and for many long, crackling minutes as the fire sputtered, they squared off, reading each other perfectly well but neither saying a word so as to not give the other ammunition to use against the other. Nail realized then the line had been drawn in the sand and his loyalty to his Don was greater than to his father.

Dende stepped into the room, the discolored water in hand. He stopped dead as if he’d walked into a wall, his eyes wide. The tension thickened all around them and Nail remained tall. He would never back down, just as he gave nothing to the saiyans.

“Upon his next Hatching Day, I will give Don Piccolo control of negotiations. He has proven his leadership in this matter, as has he proven himself poised and controlled while still remaining ruthless. He needs to prepare himself for the day I hand him the business and he is to be the Head of the Family. Continue to guide him, Nail. He trusts you.”

Nail’s claws dug into his still injured palms and he felt blood well free. “Lord Guru.” He bowed to his father and turned on his heel, marching from his parlor and out onto the porch. His shoes tapped at the wood. Irrational anger boiled forth and Nail hammered his fist against a support pillar beside the steps. He ground his teeth, hissing in a breath of air.

Ulterior motives lay atop the enigma that was his father. One moment a loyal supporter, the next a conniving jackass that threatened to undo all that Don Piccolo was building. He wouldn’t allow it. He would watch his father and warn his Don. But he would hold steady and keep Don Piccolo true. He had glimpsed Piccolo’s vision of the Family and he knew with further encouragement, Piccolo would rise above those dreams and guide them to a golden age. He just knew it.

He knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post. I was hoping Spacefille would find a spare moment to post her half, but since she's so busy with her teaching and also being on the other side of the world, I'll go ahead and post my chapter. I loved the idea of what would happen if Gohan's world was disrupted again, but not by Piccolo, but by another core member of his "family". Plus, Gohan being 12 and starting to inch into his teens. That's always fun. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed :)


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan is growing up and learns a very awkward lesson about "the birds and the bees."

~~~~~10~~~~~

~~~~~2 years later~~~~~

14 Years Old

 

Gohan grabbed for the wheel with one hand while the other braced himself against the dash. He tugged on the wheel and turned the car back onto the road before it dove into a ditch. The car hiccupped and lurched forward, rattling all the occupants inside the steel contraption.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Son!” the young namekian boy squeaked – only eleven years old – he flinched as he stepped on the brake and jerked the car to a stop.

Gohan smiled and laughed awkwardly as he grasped the stick shift and indicated that the boy should push down on the clutch. “That’s enough driving today, Bostel. I’ll uh… take over from here.” He tried to smile again, but it wavered and the namek happily slid into the back seat, relief causing even his antennae to finally perk up. Gohan scooted over and pressed in the clutch and brake, tugged on the stick shift, and rolled the vehicle back onto the road, chugging along smoothly.

He easily navigated his way back to the Family neighborhood, dropping the boy off to his father and parked the car just a few streets away to the side of Mr. Piccolo’s home. He hurried inside, pulled his cap from his head and wiped his shoes on the rug in the entry way. Glancing to the clock, Gohan rushed to his room and scooped up the copy of “The Time Machine” that he currently was reading. He smiled sheepishly and hugged it to his chest, nibbling his lip. He couldn’t wait to continue reading it with Mr. Piccolo. Gohan’s heart fluttered and his tail lashed behind him anxiously. He loved having Mr. Piccolo listen to him read and even occasionally allow a debate to volley back and forth between the two of them over where the book might go next. He reached the bottom step just as Mr. Piccolo stepped through the door, Cymbal and Nail following him inside.

Gohan smiled, his tail waved back and forth joyously, and he folded his hands in front of himself with the book. “Welcome home, Mr. Piccolo.”

Piccolo frowned at him and grunted. Gohan set the book on one of the tables in the hallway and he stepped forward, reaching up for Piccolo’s coat. In the last five years, Piccolo had gained an easy two feet in height, and Gohan, a mere half a foot. He again hoped he might grow a bit more – simply for vanity's sake. He knew better than to assume he would be a better Enforcer by being taller; but he wanted to be able to look Mr. Piccolo in the eyes and feel as though he were of use to him.

The three namekian’s left him in the hall as he hung Mr. Piccolo’s coat and stooped to pick up Nail’s and Cymbal’s from the ground.

“Have they come home already?” the kitchen maid, Launch, asked in a whisper from the doorway. He nodded and she cursed something under her breath. She disappeared back into the kitchen and Gohan waited patiently. Launch took it as a sense of honor to be certain Mr. Piccolo had a cup of hot tea ready for him no matter what time of day he came home. She scurried from the kitchen, silver tray in hand with several china cups and a large pot of tea. Several butter cookies were arranged artfully off to the side; the ones Gohan liked.

“I’ll take it to them.” He offered and she narrowed her eyes at him, pulling the tray back.

“You aren’t asking just so you can get me out of trouble, are you?”

Gohan pulled back, his eyes widening, “No! Of course not! I don’t think you would be in trouble for tea, anyway. You are the best cook we have ever had in this house and-“

“But that’s because you’re a saiyan and will eat anything. I could put tin cans in your dish and you’d eat them before realizing what they were!” She puffed up, cheeks reddening. “I’ll do it myself!” She marched into the office, head held high and long blond hair bobbing at her shoulders.

He peeked into the office, book in hand. He watched silently as Launch efficiently laid out the nameks’ cups and poured their tea, laying the cookies on the saucers. As she placed the tea pot back on the tray, it tipped and a rush of hot water fell over her fingers and she pulled back, cursing like a sailor. With years of training under Piccolo as the only explanation for his reflexes, Gohan ran across the office and saved the poor china tea pot before Launch had time to throw it across the room.

He laughed weakly and set the hot china back onto the tray, “Thank you Launch! I’ll call you if we need anything else!” he gently pushed the woman from the room.

“I’ll murder that tea pot!” She screamed before the door slammed shut in her face.

Gohan panted, wiping a bit of nervous sweat from his brow. He would have to figure out a way to get her to sneeze so her more kindly side would be ready by dinner time. Maybe if her sweet side was out, he might be lucky enough to sneak out of the kitchen with a few of those butter cookies with her blessing.

“Gohan, sit down.”

“Yes, Mr. Piccolo.” Gohan immediately sat in a chair by the door, his eyes lowered and hands gripping his knees.

“Continue.” Piccolo motioned Cymbal and the namek shifted uncomfortably as he glanced over at Gohan then back to his Don.

“We got to the warehouse on time, but that saiyan Enforcer, Nappa, was there with a group of their Family as back up.” He scowled, his voice dripping with venom. “He set us up, Don; Nappa said Don Vegeta doesn’t want _dirty hatchers_ like us doing business in _his_ city.”

Nail snorted and looked away, arms folded. “I don’t know about a set up; but Nappa at least knew what he was doing. He had the warehouse emptied by the time we got there and said he paid our supplier double what we were. He’s sending a message, Don Piccolo. He is moving in for a takeover. He wants our territory and he wants it yesterday.”

Shaking his head, Piccolo sat back in his seat, tapping his claws upon the shine of his desk. “He’ll fail.”

It was so simple, so direct. Gohan peeked up at Mr. Piccolo, his tail swaying with a twitch at the tip as his Don lifted eyes of burning fire and looked first to Nail then to Cymbal and leaned forward, like a predator slinking into the hunt as he pulled his lips back. “He’ll fail and we’ll survive. It does not matter what he does to us. This is only a minor financial setback. We’ll send our nameks out, we will send our Informants, our Enforcers, we’ll find their spies and turn them, and we will break them from the inside. We are united and strong; they are nothing but monkeys prancing down the street in suits.” He paused, allowing the two men a moment to catch their collective breath before he sat back. “Go. Tell the Heads we will meet tomorrow at nine am to discuss this further.”

He waved them away, turning away from his half brother and his right hand man. “But we will not surrender.” Piccolo growled and the door clicked shut as they left the room.

Gohan lifted his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. He could still feel the electricity from Mr. Piccolo’s words. His tail slapped against his leg excitedly as Piccolo’s heady and powerful scent filled the room and washed over him.

Piccolo remained silent for some time, tapping a claw against the desk. The clock kept pace with the ticking of Piccolo’s taps. Yet, even he gave in and closed his eyes, allowing his chin to dip a few inches. “Gohan,” the boy perked up instantly, fingers gripping his knees. “Read to me for a while. I need to clear my head of this mess Cymbal has gotten us into.”

Standing quietly, his tail high and swaying, Gohan retrieved their book and flipped through the pages as he joined Piccolo on his side of the desk and eased atop it, crossing his legs once he sat in the middle. “Let us see, chapter five.” Gohan smiled and Piccolo’s red eyes never turned away from the right side of the room, his left fingers fidgeting with a pen. Clearing his voice and sitting up straight, Gohan began.

“As I stood there musing over this too perfect triumph of man, the full moon, yellow and gibbous, came up out of an overflow of silver light in the north-east. The bright little figures ceased to move about below, a noiseless owl flitted by, and I shivered with the chill of the night. I determined to descend and find where I could sleep.”

His tail kept his pace, swaying to and fro, thumping against Piccolo’s leg now and then comfortably. It reassured him to know Piccolo was there. Though Gohan could smell him and even just feel his intensity of spirit within the room, Gohan continued to touch him now and then, that tightness in his core lessening as he confirmed Mr. Piccolo’s warmth continued to sit next to him.

“Then, again, about the Time Machine: something, I knew not what, had taken it into the hollow pedestal of the White Sphinx. Why? For the life of me-“

Gohan choked on his words abruptly, his eyes wide and tongue fumbling. Mr. Piccolo took his tail in his hand, stroking the tip and brushing the fur aside with a claw that touched across sensitive skin beneath. “Uh… um…” He swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest.

                “-life of me I could not imagine. Th-those waterless we-lls, too, th-those flickering p-pillars…”

He closed his eyes for a moment and tilted his head, his lower lip trembled as the sensations raced up his tail and blossomed from the base and outward. Chills and delicious bursts of warmth cloaked him and Gohan rumbled in his chest.

“Gohan?”

Forcing his eyes open, Gohan flushed, his entire face burning with embarrassment. “Uh… I…sorry.” He ducked his head and stared back at the book. What had he been reading? He couldn’t remember, and the more Piccolo stroked his tail and dragged his fingers through the fur, kneading at his flesh and moving further down – oh, it felt so good. He stifled a sigh, then shook himself, forcing his eyes back down onto the page.

“I felt I lacked a clue. I felt – how shall I put it? Supposed you found an inscription, with sentences here and there in excellent plain English, and interpolated therein, others make up for words, of letters even, absolutely unknown to you? Well-“

He couldn’t focus, his eyes crossed and he bit his lower lip as pleasure swelled between his legs. Gohan inhaled deeply, his tail twitching and yet unmoving within Mr. Piccolo’s grip. He shivered, loving the way he was completely captured within Piccolo’s large, strong hands. He shifted on the desk, dropping his hand-

Snapping his eyes open, Gohan jerked the book down over his lap, eyes wide and his back snapping ramrod straight. He felt the fur along his tail stand on end and he squeaked. “I…I uh… I need to go!” He twisted about, knocking some papers to the floor in his wild bid for freedom.

“Gohan!”

Piccolo’s finger’s slid across his tail as he pulled away and Gohan nearly stumbled from a delighted shiver. He jerked the door open, the book still pressed to his lap and he fled up the doors and to his room. He slammed his door shut, pressing his back to it and dropped the book. He grabbed the hem of his shirt to keep his hands from straying.

Panting and trembling where he stood, Gohan squeezed his eyes shut, his tail lashing at the air wildly behind him, slapping his tail again the door repeatedly in a desperate bid for him to deal with the growing pressure and aching hardness between his thighs. It was wrong! He shouldn’t have reacted like that! Mr. Piccolo was only being nice. He was lucky to have a Don like him. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He shouldn’t.

Gohan bit his lip and whimpered softly, the heel of his palm pressing against his lower stomach and pushing down. The pleasure spread throughout his entire body and the back of his head hit the door. He cupped himself through his slacks, his hand hot and just right. His knees trembled and his tail slapped the wall, fidgeting from a robust scent that made him dizzy. Gohan moaned, feeling phantom fingers comb along his tail, and claws raking through his hair....

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

“Gohan!”

Piccolo stood from his chair swiftly as Gohan leapt from his desk and ran for the door. The relaxation gained during the reading of the book faded, turning into a jumbled mess. What was wrong? He watched Gohan fumble with the doorknob, his other hand still fastened securely to the book and he pressed it against his thighs-

Inhaling sharply, eyes widening as Gohan’s dark head ducked and slipped out the door, Piccolo leaned forward, bracing himself against his desk, staring at the door and listening to the pounding steps of the saiyan teen racing up the stairs and to his bedroom.

It took effort to swallow. Piccolo’s mouth dried and his head thrummed and twisted with confusing questions. The realization that tumbled over and over before his mind’s eye that made his antennae twitch, his abdomen tighten, and his tongue wet his lower lip, was that Gohan had become aroused; all because he had touched his tail.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Gohan stared at Nail’s neck and cocked his head. Nail still wore traditional namekian clothing, even if he had mixed it with the modern styles currently running rampant in the human world. Gohan had seen him wear crisp white shirts and creased pinstripe pants, and Nail was never without his fedora and long trench coat if he went outside the namekian neighborhoods. Still, he clung to certain traditions fiercely, and he was just as often seen in long vests and the large, flowing pants of the nameks homeland as anything else. But most importantly, Nail had yet to give up the white neckerchief that enveloped his throat and shoulders. Gohan wondered after it. Why exactly did nameks wear it anyhow? He understood it was modest by their old world culture, but Nail’s modesty – though noble – was impractical for an Enforcer, not to mention rather silly looking when paired with a three piece suit..

Gohan stared, studying the poofy thing around Nail’s neck, and he wondered if his neck was a paler green than the rest of his skin. In all his years serving Mr. Piccolo, Gohan had only seen Nail not wearing it once – when he had returned home by some miracle after being kidnapped and interrogated by the saiyans.

The tip of his tail flicked back and forth behind him quickly as he leaned forward ever so slightly, and with only the sudden stiffness in his shoulders to warn him, Gohan’s eyes jerked up and stared directly into Nail’s narrowed eyes.

Blushing and ducking his head down, Gohan fumbled with his fork, shoving a piece of chicken between his teeth.

“What?” Nail barked, back straight and eyes narrowed.

“Nothing. I’m sorry.” Gohan blushed all the more, his tail wrapping around his waist.

“What was so fascinating that you willingly stopped smacking your lips upon the grotesque remains of that animal carcass?”

He wrinkled his nose at that and looked at the chicken, suddenly not very hungry. He pushed his plate away and fidgeted upon the stool as Nail’s eyes dug into his skin relentlessly.

Shrugging, Gohan nibbled his lip. “I don’t know. I was just wondering why you wear your neckerchief like you do.”

“It’s a Namekian Kava, or scarf.” Nail corrected and took a drink of his tea, the china clicking as he set the cup down on the saucer. “It’s part of our heritage to remain modest.”

“But you don’t wear a shirt.” Gohan blurted, leaning forward in his seat.

Nail’s lips pursed and regarded him for some time, making Gohan squirm in his seat.

“That is your culture, not ours.”

Gohan frowned, his brows knotted together. “I don’t…”

Nail rubbed at his temple, a faint hint of color spreading through his ears. “Gohan, nameks are modest, you understand this, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well for a namek, our necks are very…private. Unlike humans and saiyans, a namek’s neck is very sensitive to…touches.” His cheeks blossomed.

“I don’t understand.” Gohan frowned, touching his neck, prodding at the lump that was beginning to form in his throat.

Nail took a long drink of tea. “When nameks reproduce, we all have a…organ… very similar to the ones male saiyans and humans possess. But what makes the namekian race so different, and thus persecuted, is that the namekian race also possesses a way to reproduce on an individual basis. We do not have gender as you are used too, Gohan. We are all fully capable of producing offspring on our own…or with a partner.” He looked away, his antennae twitching.

Gohan blinked, listening and he felt his cheeks slowly warm till he felt the heat clear down to his navel.

“When a namekian chooses a mate, both partners are fully capable of producing children.” He looked back to him, from the corner of his eye. “Do you know how a namek gives birth?”

Gohan hesitated, shaking his head, and he grabbed at the legs of his pants, holding tight to the fabric in an attempt to keep himself from fidgeting.

Nail exhaled, wincing with a tick beating above his brow. “Namekians give birth via their mouth.” He paused. Apparently Nail didn’t see what he wanted to see because with a huff and a shake of his head he continued, looking more flushed and annoyed than before. “A namek’s throat is the equivalent to your saiyan females. Sex is achieved this way if two partners wish it. Our sex drive – though certainly present – are far easier to control. We have fangs to prevent forced copulations – unlike you saiyans. If two namekians do join together as a mated pair, the child’s gifts are left to chance. By copulating, we create diversity, by creating life alone, we create a child with the same gifts as our own, though their personality is entirely theirs. For instance, if Dende were to ever birth an egg alone, his son would also be a magnificent healer.”

Gohan was red from head to toe, he was certain of it. He hadn’t realized asking Nail about a scarf would involve a namekian sex talk.

"There is also a third and more obtuse method for copulating called Seeding, but it is rare and done only under extreme circumstances." Nail cleared his throat, and Gohan got the impression that sort of sex was a very private and special affair.

“To answer your question, now that you understand our… biology, nameks wear kavas for modesty’s sake. Its…erotic,” Nail flushed again, “to see another’s neck. They are very sensitive, and it is meant for only one’s self or a partner to experience.”

Gohan nodded, his head spinning. How many times had he touched Mr. Piccolo’s neck while helping him dress? Did Mr. Piccolo think he was disgusting? Touching him like that? Shame flooded him and he bit his lip.

“Gohan?”

“Why does Mr. Piccolo not wear a scarf...I mean, a kava, all the time?”

“Because he is Don. In order to protect The Family from the outside world that does not understand our ways, he must present himself a certain way amongst the humans and saiyans. He compensates by wearing high necks and often a tie, but even the namekian race has slowly become lax in such a custom as the generations pass. But there are still many, like myself, who prefer to remain covered.” He finished awkwardly and turned, taking his teacup and saucer to the sink. He washed it out and set it aside in the drying rack, and Gohan fidgeted on his seat as he watched him.

Nail’s perfect posture and square shoulders always made him want to sit up straighter and do better. Yet he wanted to ask, he wanted to know if what Nail did was because it was namekian custom, or personal. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Nail paused, and after several drawn out ticks of the clock, Nail nodded and turned to regard Gohan, his mouth a long frown. “It does, but I am not one to force my personal preferences upon others. It is my choice to live by my heritage, it is neither my place to chastise or condemn those who are simply adapting to a changing world around them.”

“What about Mr. Piccolo?”

Nail shook his head and a faint smirk touched his lips. “That is enough talk, Gohan. Don Piccolo is an exception. He does not flaunt it like many of the younger generations. He is also comfortable in his own skin, never allowing his Namekian pride to stop him from achieving his goals. He often does not train in a kava because he knows that he needs to experience what it is like to fight without it. He wears what he needs to wear to further The Family, but he also leads by example by compensating with wearing human and saiyan clothing that lends itself towards our virtues when within our territory. I find his actions exemplary. “

They stared at each other, the water dripping from the tap echoed and splashed against the drain. Gohan wondered how sensitive their throats really were. Was it just a touch? A brushing of fingertips across their skin? Or did nameks have to bite? Or perhaps it was sensitive only when two partners were copulating? Gohan’s blush returned full force, burning hot as Nail watched it happen.

“I – thank you, Nail.” He whispered, bowing his head though he couldn’t take his eyes away from the stoic namek.

Nail simply nodded, folding his arms over his chest.

He hesitated upon the stool, his belly twisting about. Finally, Gohan stood  and as silent as possible, he emptied his dinner into the waste bin, washed his dishes in the sink with shaking hands as Nail remained at his side, and once the dishes were set aside, he fled from the kitchen and back into the yard to continue chopping wood for the fire.

He couldn’t seem to get rid of the blush as he realized that when he touched Mr. Piccolo’s neck, it probably felt the same as when Mr. Piccolo played with his tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I'm very excited to finally post this chapter. I've had this one written out almost from the very beginning and loooove it on so many levels. Spacefille was the one who really wanted Gohan to be sitting on Piccolo's lap while he was felt up during their reading sessions - but since Gohan is still a minor, I don't rush things when I write, and I also like to grow my characters and their relationships, I started out small :) innocent touches that no one without a tail would think twice about.
> 
> But mostly, I love this chapter because this was the chapter that Nail finally was really defined for me. I felt like, even though I did it from Gohan's point of view, I finally understood who Nail was in this particular story and why he did - and does - what he does. I love the previous chapter because of Spacefille's side story with Nail and her work helped me develop his character more; but this one defined it.
> 
> So! As proud as a parent at their kindergartner's first play, I present to you, my version of how nameks have sex! :D this was actually a lot of fun to work out. I did as much research into what Akira Toriyama had ever written or said about nameks and their race, and wanted to try and stay as close to that as possible... and then twist one or two things. Spacefille and I discussed it at length, and I ultimately came to the decision that an asexual race still needed to create variations otherwise they would be nothing but copies. So I figured out about three different ways (four if you count the one I'm not including in this story) that namekians could reproduce both alone and together, and am now quite satisfied with my final product :)
> 
> hopefully I didn't completely turn everyone off to this story now XD but I'm very pleased with it and I hope to hear what you think. From here on out, Gohan is growing up, lots and lots of hormones involved, and a deeper plot shall reveal itself ;)
> 
> I hope you liked and don't be afraid to review~
> 
> ~Melissa the Damgel


	12. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gohan finally uses what Piccolo has taught him....

~~~~~11~~~~~

~~~~~2 Years Later~~~~~

16 Years Old

 

 “Faster!” Gohan grinned, stepping into Piccolo’s attacks, matching him block for block, punch for punch. Piccolo grinned back at him, canines flashing wicked and pleased all at once. Piccolo picked up the pace, they practically danced within the training ring, leaping about like jackrabbits or remaining perfectly still till the air cracked and they charged each other, deflecting the other’s attacks with well practiced blocks that opened the other up to an attack.

They circled the other, their fists raised and feet flying across the dirt. Left, right, uppercut, hook, and a knee to the stomach; they leapt out of the way and ducked, fending the other off even as they took the offensive. Faster and faster their movements went till it seemed almost a blur. Piccolo dropped to the ground, sweeping a leg out and Gohan jumped, avoiding the attack and as he landed, he tackled Piccolo, forcing him into the dirt, hand at his throat and a fist raised for the final blow.

Piccolo’s mouth twisted, fangs flashing with a grin and red eyes burning with a fire that delighted in the sparring – and Gohan smiled back, bright and completely overjoyed. He did it! He had bested Piccolo! He blushed as he realized he was straddling him, sitting directly over his crotch and pleasure raced through his belly.

Twisting his legs, Piccolo abruptly flipped him, rolling with the movement and he pinned Gohan to the ground. He bent forward and whispered in his ear, “Don’t get distracted.”  Gohan held his breath, a curl of arousal rushed through his body at the growl in Piccolo’s voice. Mr. Piccolo pushed away and stood, freeing Gohan and leaving him in the dirt, panting and staring up at the sky.

So close! He had almost won and he had been so close to Mr. Piccolo he could have…have…kissed him.

Pulling his knees to his chest and leaping to his feet in one move, Gohan raced after Piccolo, a hop to his step and cheeks still flushed. “But I did it! I beat you for a second!” he said with a little flutter.

“You’ll have to work harder than that, kid, to best me.” Piccolo took a towel from one of the slaves and wiped the sweat from his body. He pulled his shirt off and Gohan took a towel as well, wiping his face and scrubbing his hair to free it of moisture, his eyes shining as he stared up at Piccolo.

His voice was breathless regardless of the scolding. “But I did it!”

Piccolo glared at him and Gohan grinned. It didn’t matter if Piccolo admitted it or not, he had done it, for one fleeting moment, he had bested him. His tail flickered excitedly behind him, dashing to and fro in his pleasure, and with a roll of his eyes, Piccolo turned away and Gohan followed, still bouncing about like a pup.

“I bested you!” He giggled.

The banter continued all the way to the house, a small scuffle even taking place out on the porch till Gohan laughed and fled to the slave quarters’ bath to clean up; Piccolo scowling after him the entire way.

When he returned, Nail stood outside of Piccolo’s door, frowning severely – even more so for the serious namekian. He had his final growth spurt a few months ago. He had been tall before, but Nail towered now, nearly topping seven feet tall (typical for namekians). Broad of shoulder, sharp jaw line and a stony glare that could stop any and all in their tracks; and he was loyal to no end.

“Hello Mr. Nail.” He smiled pleasantly, stopping in front of him.

“Get changed. I feel Don Piccolo will need an Enforcer.”

Gohan blinked, surprised at Nail’s sharp response. “What’s going on? Can’t Drum go? Or Cymbal?”

Nail frowned, his eyes dropping to the floor, “It’s nothing you won’t be able to handle. But Don Piccolo needs to show his strength.” His eyes rose and he stared directly at Gohan, “You are stronger than any of our other Enforcers. We need to show this so this traitor will understand we are not Piccolo Daimao’s leftovers. We are a new generation just as strong as the past Dons.”

It seemed far too complicated for it to be simply that, and Gohan folded his arms over his chest, studying Nail’s face. The namek gave nothing away and Gohan should have known better. Sighing, he nodded and turned away, going to his room. He changed quickly, dressing in a new suit Mr. Piccolo had gotten for him not a week prior. It made his nose tickle from the scent of the soap, and how smooth the fabric felt against his fingertips. It was luxurious. Black and sleek, it fit him like a glove and Gohan looked at himself in the hallway mirror, a little surprised at how well it all fit.

He jumped when Mr. Piccolo exited his room, marching down the hallway calmly, Nail to his right and Gohan taking his place at his left. They headed for Piccolo’s office, and as they stepped inside, Pilaf – a small time bookie out on the South Side – sat waiting for him with two lackeys sitting to other side of him. The woman raised her head, looking the men over with a critical eye, and the canine stood, standing before Pilaf protectively.

“Aw, Don Piccolo.” Pilaf greeted, standing from his chair and walking up to him, arms outstretched and smiling like a snake. Gohan didn’t trust him instantly; he smelled like alcohol and smoke and cheap women, and the man smelled like deceit.

Piccolo ignored the short man and walked directly to his desk, leaning against the front of it. “What do you want, Pilaf. We made our negotiations last month to our mutual satisfaction.”

Pilaf’s hands moved behind his back, his chest puffing out with indignation and Gohan folded his own arms across his chest, eyeing each member of Pilaf’s band and shifting his weight to his front foot.

“Well I have information for you, Don.” Pilaf shuffled forward, hands on his hips, “Don Vegeta of the Saiyan Family has offered me quite a handsome cut if I were to join with them. I’d not only be under their protection, but I would be getting nearly double what you are currently paying me.”

Mr. Piccolo raised a brow and Gohan watched the room, waiting for any signal, whether ally or foe that would signal he needed to attack.

“Pilaf.” Piccolo sighed, standing from his desk. “You do realize the only reason I even need you at all is because your books are immaculate. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t replaceable.”

Pilaf stiffened and his Enforcer took a step closer.

Piccolo moved around to the other side of his desk and carefully took a seat, leaning forward with his hands clasped upon the rich wood. The chair creaked and Mr. Piccolo’s red eyes narrowed, “Pilaf, I am certain Don Vegeta has no intentions of allowing you to live. You would have proven yourself a traitor, a possible spy, and the saiyans keep everything in-house. You would be nothing but dog food to the man.”

The short man swallowed hard, his round face draining of color.

“I should kill you right now for threatening betrayal, abandonment, and breaking a contract that has been in good standing for over seven years now.” Piccolo leaned back in his chair, lifting his left hand with his thumb and middle finger poised, ready to snap. “Would you wish to rephrase your threat?”

Clearing his throat and pulling his hat from his head, Pilaf tugged on the material, his pointed ears twitching and drooping. “I, uh, well, I meant to say, that is, Don Vegeta has offered me quite a deal if I were to, uh, join with his Family. But I…I respectfully declined the offer. It…it may have been twice the sum, but…” his eyes widened and he fumbled for his words, “but I told him that I could do no such thing! My Don treats me well!”

Piccolo regarded him and Gohan’s tail lashed behind him, watching Mr. Piccolo study the man carefully before he nodded and flicked his eyes to Gohan. “Beat him for his insolence, but let him live. He chose wisely.”

"What, no, my Don!" Pilaf cried, hands waving as if to fend off Gohan.

Nothing could have stopped him.

Gohan moved instantly and with a few quick punches he dispatched the two lackeys and had Pilaf pinned to the ground, his fists breaking his nose and bruising his face.

Piccolo allowed the beating to go on for only three minutes or so, barely enough time to break a sweat, yet, as Gohan backed away, he stared at his hands, at the blood, and his whitened knuckles and felt sick. He swallowed hard, looking first to Mr. Piccolo then to Nail. Pilaf was gone. He didn't remember him leaving.

"You did well." Piccolo held him with his eyes.

"Mr. Piccolo?" His voice trembled and he hated it. What he hated more was how easily he had responded. He hadn't even thought about it. He attacked, he beat him, and had stopped the moment Piccolo commanded him.

"What did you sense from him, Gohan? What did you smell?" Nail's voice cut past the eye-lock he held with Piccolo and he focused, pulling his thoughts together and forcing his instincts back to the forefront.

"He was a cheat. A liar. He was going to play you against the saiyan Don to force you to pay him more.” He swallowed hard never looking away from Mr. Piccolo. He needed him to focus. “I knew the second I scented him that I didn’t trust him. He kept his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t use one of them to talk, and,” He hesitated, glancing first to Nail then to Mr. Piccolo, blushing a little. “I…I read a book once on how saiyan culture views outsiders. Pilaf obviously didn’t know or was lied too, but the Saiyan’s would have taken his books and killed him. He was either outright lying hoping you would call his bluff or he honestly didn’t know Vegeta probably had plans to kill him as soon as he had taken over Pilaf’s operations.”

Mr. Piccolo smirked and he glanced to Nail who grunted and glanced away from the Don, as if conceding to something or other.

“I told you. He is a natural born Negotiator. He will become my official bodyguard alongside you, Nail, and he will join me for my negotiations from now on.”

Nail sighed, looking Gohan over, his arms folding over his broad chest. He frowned, his brows deep and severe and he nodded finally, looking to his Don and Mr. Piccolo raised a brow, daring him to counter his claim. “If that is what you wish, Don Piccolo, I will begin his training in Negotiations. But he still needs more training in his fighting prowess. He will need more than just martial training. Guns. Explosives. Knife fighting.”

He waved his words away, nodding in agreement. “Do it.” Piccolo turned back to Gohan, and Gohan’s heart nearly stopped, his eyes wide.

“Do you understand?” The namek stared at him and Gohan stared right back at his Don, his hands trembling at his sides. He shook his head after a moment, his tail flicking behind him.

Mr. Piccolo walked around his desk, approaching Gohan, his arms crossing over his chest. “You have a natural talent, kid. You are book smart and quick to remember facts. You will be joining me from now on whenever I am to have a meeting and you will be standing at my side. With Nail or with another, you will be advising me on any deal I am to make by telling me what you think of those I am negotiating with.”

Gohan couldn’t remember how to talk, though it confused him and his head spun and he felt like his chest was compressing in on itself and draining his brain of all those facts and book smarts Piccolo had just talked about. He shrugged a little and Mr. Piccolo frowned at him, glaring at him. Gohan’s tail twisted about.

“What?”

“I don’t understand. I’m…I’m your slave. Why would you want a slave helping you?” Gohan asked, raising his eyes.

Piccolo snorted, shaking his head, his glare intensified and his red eyes burned into him. “I don’t have to explain myself again. You did well tonight. You told me what I needed to know about Pilaf and you preformed your duties. That’s all I will require of you anyhow.”

Gohan swallowed and nodded, his eyes down and head bowing. “Yes, Mr. Piccolo.”

His Don was silent for some time, the room’s clock ticking away in the emptiness. “Gohan, you will train to aid me as a Negotiator. Raise your head high and don’t look down to anyone.”

Raising his head and looked to Piccolo, Gohan caught his eyes before the Don turned away and walked back around his desk, shoulder’s stiff and his fingers clenched tight. Nail even looked a bit surprised, his antennae twitching.

“But, Mr. Piccolo…”

“Don’t question me.” He snapped, taking his seat. “I’ll have Nail bring you a list of reading you will be required to finish before next month’s meeting with the Red Ribbon speakeasy. The wife in particular is very crafty. I need you prepared.”

Gohan nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes, Mr. Piccolo.”

“Good. Now get changed, it’s time for your evening chores.”

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Gohan shuffled from the room and Piccolo stared after him, a glare set and his shoulders tense. When the doors were closed and he knew the boy was on the stairs, he finally huffed and turned away, not wanting to look at Nail either.

He had thought the boy would have been excited about it.

“He is still young, Piccolo. You surprised him is all. He thought he was going to grow up and be like his father, and instead you just told him you don’t need just a brute, but an intelligent and capable aid to guide you during meetings. You thrust him from down under your shoes to at your side. The boy suddenly has just as much opinion as you. You have shifted his world.”

“He will be good at it.”

“I’m not saying he won’t be. He is extremely intelligent; a trait not common in his race. But you have to understand, you startled the boy.”

Piccolo huffed, tracing the tip of his claw over his lips, “Perhaps.”

Nail stood quietly for some time before he was dismissed with a wave of Piccolo’s hand. He saw his Enforcer, his Negotiator, and Councilor leave the room and Piccolo frowned. Nail had a point. He always did. Perhaps he thrust the title onto the boy too quickly.

Even so, he needed him to be ready. He didn’t know how, but he felt it. Things were changing.

 

~~~~~1 Month Later~~~~~

 

 “We would be able to offer protection. After all, we are the best fighters in the city.”

Piccolo schooled his face, unwilling to flinch and allow Don Vegeta to see the annoyance. He assumed. It made him an ass. He smirked at that. “We have been known to hold our own. We offer protection and rewards for loyalty. We don’t abandon our own.”

Vegeta stared at him, glowering, seething from across the room. Piccolo felt no victory using the simple jab.

“Sir?” Gohan spoke suddenly and Piccolo turned his head, never taking his eyes off the saiyan, but indicating the boy should speak. His bodyguard and adviser leaned close to his ear, his breath brushing over his skin. “This is not the way to win this woman over. She started this business. She has managed not only to keep it quiet from both families, but also has kept her family well cared for because of this business. She is a better ally than a rival. Offer her more of a share. 70/30.”

Piccolo’s antennae twitched and he turned his head, staring at the young man, Gohan’s dark eyes bore into his. No trickery. There never was. Simple honesty and a desire to please him. But seventy percent of profits she would retain? It was unheard of. A measly thirty percent for his own coffers.

Gohan swallowed hard, glancing to the Don across the table then back to Piccolo, a blush touching his cheeks and his tail lashed behind him. “Even that small of a percent in one month is more profit than six of your speakeasies combined make in a six month stretch; or what Oasis alone makes in a year.”

He had a point. Plus Gohan’s underlying warning to not get greedy was like a flick to his antennae.

“Perhaps we are being unfair, Mrs. Krillin.” He said, turning back to the blond woman sitting at the head of the table, bored and beautiful all at once. She raised a brow, her cheek resting against her finger and a snort escaped her.

“You don’t say.” Deep and soulful, her voice demanded respect instantly even if her husband, a short but powerful looking man, seemed to scream easy prey. He countered her striking image, even as she lounged in her chair. He seemed so pathetic, but she, Mrs. Krillin demanded both attention and deference.

Piccolo leaned back in his chair, his fingers a steeple before his lips. “Mmm, indeed. What if we were to offer you protection, loyalty; and a 70/30 cut. Yours being the 70% of course.”

Her brows twitched, the only indication of interest she had given all morning the second this bothersome negotiations for her speakeasy had begun. Don Vegeta’s eyes practically shot fire and his advisers scrambled to his side, whispering in his ears nervously with animated gestures and sweat beading their brows. Their tails also tucked so tightly around their waist, it made Piccolo wonder why he had never seen Gohan’s tail that still.

Don Vegeta’s face grew red. “And why would you offer so much more now? You are offering nearly three times the original offer.”

“You are a powerful woman and my adviser has kindly pointed out the hard work you have put into your business. Greed only plays to destroy the potential in a business you have done well to cultivate. What could you do if you had the means to continue doing what you are doing?” He tilted his head and lifted his chin, staring along the length of his nose at the woman’s cool blue eyes. “I like to believe you would achieve greatness.”

Mrs. Krillin - or 18 as she preferred to be known as while conducting business of any kind in her speakeasy - slipped her blond hair behind her ear in a dainty motion. Her husband gripped her shoulder with a hard swallow. The move perhaps looked as if he was in charge, but 18 continued to control the situation perfectly. She shifted in her chair, crossing her legs and allowing the length of her thigh to be spied through a slit in her skirt. It didn’t distract Piccolo.

She narrowed her eyes, tapping her finger against her cheek once.

Don Vegeta stood abruptly, knocking his chair back in a clatter. “I demand we take a break to discuss this....turn of events. Give each family a moment to think over benefits.” He turned without waiting for Piccolo’s assent and he marched from the room, a crowd of five other saiyans racing after their Don.

Piccolo nodded to Mrs. Krillin and then to her rather pathetic husband, and he stood from his chair, smooth, calm, and Gohan pulled it out for him. “My offer is good.” He said, staring 18 in the eyes.

She didn’t move, didn’t say a word; her husband flinched, looking back and forth between the two of them.

Nail and Gohan both bowed to the woman as well before they followed Piccolo out a second set of doors.

The three other bodyguards closed the door and stood guard as Piccolo leaned against the wall, arms folded and his brows drawn deep over his eyes. “Are you certain of this, Gohan?”

“It is a very generous offer. I have never heard of any speakeasy getting so much. She would be a fool to turn it down.” Nail agreed, rubbing his chin and pacing, his head bobbing. “Let alone our water rights. She could import liquor from Europe and we could offer a means of safe delivery.” he mused.

Gohan blushed and his tail lashed behind him the longer Piccolo stared at him. “Well...if my calculations are right, you could even go so far as to offer her 72% and you would still be making more in one week at 18’s place than Oasis does in two months; let alone your other six speakeasies combined.” He rubbed his nose sheepishly and Piccolo found it rather endearing. “I just don’t see her making a choice unless it benefits her. She is the type of woman who might....who might create her own Family if she doesn’t get her way.”

“And you are trying to protect her?” Piccolo narrowed his eyes, He snorted at the bow of the boy’s head.

“The kid has a point.” a soft voice said and they both looked to the doorway, staring at Mr. Krillin. The short man looked as if he were ready to wet himself, but he straightened his back, swallowed hard and pushed his shoulders back in a desperate bid for courage. Piccolo waved the Enforcers down.

“Go on.”

Krillin sighed, “My wife is stubborn. Take into account she tends to worship money, she won’t just take the better of two evils. She’ll only take the best. My wife is considering your offer. I just want you to know. But you have to give us more incentive to side with you, Don Piccolo. The saiyans are violent, but they do protect what is theirs.”

Piccolo nodded once. “The saiyans are indeed violent. But they do not know what it means to be a family with The Family.”

The man stared at him, sweat gathering as his temples. “We have a daughter.” He said suddenly.

Gohan glanced his way and Piccolo nodded to him, allowing him to speak.

The boy stepped forward, swallowing hard. “She’ll be looked after. Don Piccolo will not allow the saiyans to kidnap her as leverage, nor will Don Piccolo allow anyone in your family to be bullied. That is what protection means to the Namekian Family. Don Piccolo will assign several namekians to not only guard, but to work for your wife, and to be her allies. Don Piccolo’s offers go far beyond simple figures and money deposits like the saiyans run their business. He’ll see to it that what is yours is his to treasure as well.”

Krillin looked to Piccolo, his pulse thumping in his neck with wide eyes. Piccolo nodded his assent. It was perhaps more than they would indeed typically offer, but Gohan was also correct. Piccolo looked after his assets. He wouldn’t abandon them once the agreement was made and money exchanged hands. Care for the investment and the investment would blossom for you in return. That is what he had learned. Something his father had left to the Enforcers.

The man swallowed then nodded. “I’ll tell my wife.” his voice trembled, his eyes dropping and his head bowing. He turned and left the room. Gohan fidgeted, peeking back to his Don.

Piccolo sniffed, “You are certain?”

“If you really want this speakeasy; then yes.”

Piccolo nodded and pushed away from the wall and he led his men back out into the main room to wait for the saiyan’s rebuttal.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Don Vegeta paced, arms folded over his chest and fury seethed just under the surface. He managed to contain it – barely.

“What happened back there?” He turned, dark eyes focusing on his men.

They all hesitated, cowering before him. It satisfied him that his men were so quick to try and please him, but it infuriated him that they all looked so lost as to what that damn _hatcher_ had pulled over on him. He had out maneuvered him. It was ridiculous; what he offered that woman was easily double what she should have been happy to take in exchange from any family; but that namekian scum had taken it from him. He was supposed to be the logical choice in this city! He was the Prince of all saiyans, he was supposed to be the King of all the families in the city. He wasn’t supposed to be scoffed at and set aside in exchange for a Family barely out of their diapers.

“Our offer was sound. They simply looked at the margin of profit they as a small Family would gain by offering so much to the woman.” An older saiyan, Kumquad said, looking up from his paper and setting his pencil aside. He leaned back in his chair and looked Vegeta in the eye, his arms folding over his chest.

“Then why didn’t we know ahead of time about this margin?” he snapped and slapped his hands down upon the table. His tail even unwound from his waist and puffed up, ridged and stiff.

His men shifted uneasily around him as his very indecent display of emotions.

Kumquad shook his head and sighed, “Don Vegeta, would you have ever considered giving that woman a 70% cut?”

Vegeta ground his teeth and he snorted, looking away. Of course he wouldn’t. It was ridiculous. No one had ever heard of a Family doing such. What possessed Don Piccolo to even consider it? He saw it then, as if his mind conjured the answer out of the air – a child, a young man leaning forward and whispering in his ear. The namekian Don leaning towards him only to pull back just as quickly with a hint of surprise. The boy’s tail gesticulating about…

“Who was the boy?” His voice rose, rasping against his throat.

Nappa scowled across the table and curled his fists against the table. “That brat was a saiyan. You did see his tail, right? He had absolutely no control. Revealing his emotions like that. It was distracting, the way he waved it about, showing his affection for that hatcher.” He curled his lips back, snarling with exposed teeth. “Disgusting.”

“But who is he? Did any of you know he had a saiyan at his side?”

His men hesitated and Vegeta roared as he threw his hands up. “Useless! All of you, utterly useless!”

“Perhaps his lack of discipline gives us a clue as to his origins?” Kumquad tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling as he leaned back further into his chair. “All saiyan children are taught at a young age to control their emotional tells by keeping their tails firmly wrapped about their waist. But this boy, he is just barely stepping into manhood, holds himself like a true warrior, and yet gives his hand away by showing all around him exactly what he is thinking.”

Vegeta cut him off, shaking his head. “We would know if a namekian had taken one of our own, especially one of our children.”

Kumquad smiled, looking to Vegeta with that patient glint that only the older generation gave him. It pissed him off, but he had learned to listen if nothing else.

“What?”

“I remember, nearly a decade ago now, of a boy you hired who had married an outsider, a human if I recall. He was one of your favored Enforcers, slow on brains but quick with a fist. He enjoyed his boxing matches more than any other saiyan I have ever met. Do you remember him?”

Vegeta ground his teeth, forcing his tail to wrap around his waist so as to not give away his utter frustration with the old man. Even behind closed doors and with his advisors all around, he needed to present himself in a certain light.

He breathed deeply and forced his mind back, thinking of all the enforcers he had hired over the years. It was a long list, but that one detail, the boxing matches, it sparked a memory of a saiyan unlike most. Quick to laugh, he delighted in a fight like a true saiyan, but soft on his emotions.

“Goku.” Vegeta said and Kumquad nodded, his smile falling.

Pushing forward and leaning on the table, Kumquad tapped his finger on the table several times, “Goku. He disappeared, remember? We found his home broken into, blood inside, ransacked by the looks of it, but we never found a body. Ever. Not even washed up downstream as far south as the Family goes. We never found his remains, nor the woman he married – and from the looks of it, the child he fathered with her.”

Vegeta stiffened as did all his men. Of course, a half breed. They wouldn’t have allowed such a brat into the saiyan schools, as most half breeds were weaker and not as aggressive as their brood typically were, they were unworthy in most saiyan opinions.

If the brat were truly half saiyan, they wouldn’t have concerned themselves with him, let alone bothered to take note of his disappearance in any significant light. Except Kumquad.

It would also explain why he didn’t know how to control his tail.

Pacing once more, Vegeta hummed, shaking his head, “This is unacceptable. Half breed or not, we should have kept track of him. He has part of our blood, he is ours. I’d rather a half breed brat serving as my personal bodyguard than crawling on all fours like a dog before a namekian usurper. Find out everything you can on the boy. Rumors, sightings, everything. I want his name and what he is doing at the feet of a namekian master. I want to know what role he plays to the hatcher. I will not have even a half breed taking a shit because a namekian master orders him too. I will take back what is mine. Do you understand?” his men straightened instantly, nodding quickly.

Kumquad nodded as well, his old eyes sparking slightly.

Vegeta glowered at the old man then turned, stalking from the meeting hall. His footsteps thundered through the hallways, servants and Enforcers alike skittering out of his path with fear and a healthy dose of survival instinct coursing through their veins. Vegeta stormed into his room, pacing through the large chamber, his mind racing. The dots began connecting, even if they were flimsy and tentative.

If the child truly was the Son brat, then perhaps Son Goku had indeed been involved in the raid nearly seven years back on his warehouses. Had Goku betrayed him? It hadn’t been a namekian raid, that much had been clear. It had been a legal raid. If it hadn’t been for his informant within the Fed office, he and his Family would have been penniless and sitting behind bars. Perhaps this saiyan child of the namekian Don would be the answer to so many of his questions.

Perhaps the child would be the key to flushing Goku out of hiding. He called for his advisor, waiting impatiently as the older man arrived ten minutes later with the messenger.

“Kumquad, spread the word that we have found the Son brat.”

“At once, Don Vegeta.”

 

~~~~~4 Months Later~~~~~

 

Goku roared and lumbered forward on his hands and knees, his youngest son, Goten, squealing as he turned and ran away from the ‘big bad monster’ and jumped up onto the couch to get away.

“Really, you two,” Chichi huffed, hands on her hips, “Be careful with the furniture!”

Goku laughed sheepishly at her, but that didn’t stop him from lunging after his son, scooping him up, and tickling his belly. Goten shrieked and wiggled, arching his back in his arms to try and get away.

The knock on the door was only a minor distraction. Chichi sighed and left them to their game, but when her gasp and quick steps back that knocked over a small table in the entryway, Goku was at her side instantly, eyes hard, and his grip tight around Goten who he had propped on his hip.

Tien stood in the doorway, hat in his hands and his mouth turned down in a heavy frown. Chichi gasped again and grabbed for Goku’s wrist, a sob escaping her.

“Tien?” Goku asked, passing Goten to Chichi, his wife clinging to their son; but she didn’t leave as she normally did when the men spoke. She bit her lip, her fingers threaded through Goten’s hair to hold tight to him, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she stared at the FBI agent as if her life depended on him being there.

The man nodded and shifted from one foot to the other, motioning inside, “May I?” Goku stepped aside and Tien entered, his shoes clicking on the hardwood. “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I have some news I just informed your wife of… it… it concerns your son.”

Goku stiffened and he felt Chichi lean into him, mouth hidden against Goten’s shoulder.

“Mama?” Goten asked, his own eyes watering, mostly due to his mother’s distress.

Looking down, Tien twisted his hat between his hands, his fingers running along the rim before he sighed, steeling himself. “My news is twofold... half good and half bad I’m afraid.”

“What is it?” Goku whispered, his throat tight, and his stomach knotted. He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. All his nightmares were about to come true, he realized. He didn’t know if he wanted Tien to speak.

But the man did, all three eyes rising to look at him, shoulders pushed back and chin lifted as if realizing he needed to be the strong one here. “We found your son.”

Goku’s hands shook.

“He’s alive, and appears well; that’s the good news.”

Chichi gripped at his arm. He twisted his hand and took hers firmly in his.

“But, I’m afraid he’s been taken into the Namekian Family. It has been recently confirmed that they raised him to be a thug for Don Piccolo in the Don’s own home.”

“My boy… my boy…” Chichi choked out as he crumpled.

Goku caught her, focusing first on making sure he guided his wife into the sitting room and down into a chair. He turned back to Tien, studying him for a minute, his mouth dry. “But he’s alive?”

“Yes. He appears well fed, and from all accounts he’s treated well; but he doesn’t leave the Don’s side for any reason, and according to my sources, he’s been trained as an Enforcer by the Don himself. We don’t yet know what that fully means for the boy, but if history is any indication-”

“He’s been broken.” Goku whispered back. Tien could only nod.

He nodded and Tien stayed for several more minutes, telling him about several theories the FBI was putting together; but none of it involved extracting Gohan from the Namekian Family due to the danger it would present to his agents. It was all just talking from there, and Goku stopped paying attention.

Tien eventually left with a nod and a frown that said he didn’t know what else to do for them. It was useless.

At least, what the FBI could do for them was useless. Goku studied his wife and his youngest son sitting on her lap, so confused as to why his mother was crying. His little arms wrapped around her neck and held her, brows squished together.

“Get packed, we’re going on a trip.” Goku said suddenly.

Chichi sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, her rouge smeared and eyes red. “A vacation now?”

“Yes, we’re going on an adventure.” Goku said and scooped Goten from her arms, lifting his son up over his head and smiling up at him – even though he didn’t feel like smiling at all. “We’re going on a treasure hunt! We’re going to go find your long lost brother.” He said, voice pitched higher and Goten grinned, his eyes shining.

“Oh, Goku…” Chichi whispered, on her feet immediately, hands pressed to her mouth.

“I’m going to get a brother?” Goten asked, his hands reaching out to touch his father’s face.

“Yes. Because it’s high time we brought Gohan home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever - to be honest, this chapter didn't excite me so I sort of dragged my feet, and then even after I wrote it, I didn't like how it turned out so I was mulling over how to fix it..... and then last night, inspiration hit and I literally added half a page with Goku, and it worked. *sigh* writing....


	13. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piccolo has Gohan accompany him as his bodyguard; Gohan is conflicted about his Don's choices.

~~~~~12~~~~~

~~~~~1 Month Later~~~~~

 

Goku stood at the window of the apartment they had found a month ago nearly ten miles outside the city and up in the mountains. Tien stood glowering at him from the corner with Yamcha at the door, hand on his gun, and little Chaozu at the kitchen table, drinking from a glass with two hands. In his haste to get back in town and find Gohan, he had rented a very small apartment that offered little in way of privacy, both indoors and between neighbors.

 

“How close have you been able to get to the Nameks?” Goku asked.

 

“Not at all. They are certainly the lesser of two evils; but they cloister together, keeping to their own.” Tien answered, shifting his stance till he held a resting military position, though his arms were crossed over his chest. “The Family itself is actually one of the least violent Mafia Families our department has to deal with in the country in recent years. They are also of the lowest priority within the city. The saiyans being number one. Its why it took us so long to realize Gohan was with them.”

 

That at least made sense, and Goku nodded. He fidgeted in place, tapping his fingers against his bicep, shifting from foot to foot. With his tail gone, he found his body needed other ways to rid itself of excess energy that his tail normally would have done for him. Going into hiding was one thing, but to surgically remove his tail to further hide his identity, he regretted it now and then.

 

The shock of Gohan being alive at all drove him to pack up his family and move as close to the city as possible. Though now that he was here, he didn’t know what he could even do. He closed the drapes and turned, rubbing the back of his neck, beginning to pace. “Do you know if he’s at least safe?”

 

“He seems well fed if that is what you mean.”

 

Chaozu shifted in his seat, setting his glass on the table. “I talked with him for a minute, when I was undercover. I was with a gang of boys and we went running past as he and the namek we have identified as Nail were leaving the bank. I tripped and scraped my chin. He picked me up and cleaned me up.” Chaozu frowned, his little fists on his knees. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I don’t think they are mistreating him. He smiled, a lot. And Nail offered his handkerchief when Gohan asked. If anything, he is at least far enough up in the hierarchy to garner some form of respect.”

 

“Nail is Don Piccolo’s right hand man.” Tien filled in.

 

Goku fidgeted, bumping his fist against his leg, and then wiping at his brow.

 

“He’s seventeen.”

 

That hung in the air, and Goku paced the room, feeling their eyes on him. He really didn’t know what to do. He knew how to fight, but thinking long term had always been a problem for him. Chichi was in charge of the household for that reason. But he did understand how the Families worked. He stopped in the middle of the room, exhaling and releasing the pent up frustration. He was really good at only one thing, and he realized it was his only option.

 

“Get me into the boxing matches.”

 

Yamcha looked over at that and blinked, eyes wide. Chaozu jumped off his chair, and Tien glared.

 

“No.”

 

“If you get me in the ring, I can get close to the Family. The namekians always had fighters-”

  
“Who fight using their native style. Fights between saiyan boxers and namekian fighters are extravagant affairs with money being thrown around in the thousands. I will not allow you to put yourself on display before two entire Families and expect none of them to recognize you.” Tien stalked toward him.

 

“Then figure out how to hide me, because I’m going in, with or without your approval.” Goku snapped, heart pounding. He had continued to train over the years, and though he had not actually had more than a sparing match at the local gym in their new town, he knew he was even better than he used to be. A real fight? It excited him. He wanted it just as badly as he wanted Gohan back.

 

“No!” Tien snapped, and they argued for nearly an hour, going round and round, till Chichi stepped inside with Goten holding her hand.

 

Goten stepped closer to his mother and hugged her leg. He had turned five the day before they moved, and though he was just as inquisitive and fiery as Goku had been at that age, there was a sweetness about the boy. In a perfect world where Gohan had not been kidnapped, Goku couldn’t help but feel that Gohan and his youngest son would have been thick as thieves. They would have have gotten along so well, had they known each other. They would never have that unless he tried.

 

Leveling a look at Tien, his shoulders squaring, Goku shook his head. “Find a way for this to work. Its the quickest way for me to get close to the Families. I know I can do it.”

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tien cursed and Chichi covered Goten’s ears, leading him quickly to the kitchen. “Fine. Yamcha, check around with the local gyms. We’ll call for an undercover agent so he can act as a trainer.”

 

“Got it.” Yamcha left the apartment, his steps heavy as he jogged down the hall. Chaozu took his place.

 

“This is it, Goku. If you mess this up, there will be nothing we can do.”

 

Goku glanced to Chichi; her blanched face, pleading eyes, and the way her fingers held Goten’s shirt tight, said it all. But he nodded, looking right at her, and she looked away, a flush rushing back into her cheeks.

 

“I understand.”

 

Tien shook his head and put his hat back on, stomping to the door. “Chaozu,” and they were gone.

 

Chichi and he fought that night, their voices pitched low and hissed out. Chichi cried, hitting his hands away when he tried to hug her. It was dawn as he sat there at the kitchen table, hands gripping his coffee mug a little too tight. Was he unnecessarily putting his family in danger? Gohan had just turned seventeen. Two months ago. He was old enough to decide his own life if he hadn’t already. If he didn’t want to leave with him, there was nothing Goku could do.

 

He didn’t know what was right or wrong anymore. His moral code, that spark that made Goku walk away and risk everything to turn in the Saiyan Family, demanded that he try. To fight. To do what he had to do in order to find Gohan. But glancing over to the open bedroom door, with Chichi curled around Goten with steely arms, he just didn’t know anymore. He had failed Gohan.

 

Goten moved in his sleep, his little arm jerking and rubbing at his nose. He huffed as if annoyed when he couldn’t roll over, but just as quickly, he lay back down and was silent.

 

He wondered how Gohan was sleeping.

 

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

~~~~~10 Months Later~~~~~

17 Years Old

 

Gohan gripped the steering wheel of the car, his eyes darting about the road as it rattled along. He peeked over his shoulder at Mr. Piccolo then blushed and looked back to the road, his stomach twisted wildly and churned up his emotions. “Um, Mr. Piccolo?”

“What?” Piccolo sighed from behind, and Gohan’s tail slapped the seat.

“Um… well… it’s just, the address you gave me is… is to a… a house of disrepute.” He whispered and bit his lip, his cheeks heating and gathering color instantly.

Piccolo shifted behind him and Gohan felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, a shiver rushing down his spine. He knew Mr. Piccolo was staring directly at him. He could practically feel red eyes raking over his neck and shoulders, and boring into the back of his skull. Gohan blushed again and gripped the steering wheel tighter. His tail thumped the seat several more times.

“Just take me there.”

Gohan’s stomach jerked high into his chest. “Yes, Mr. Piccolo.” He whispered and he stared at the road, trying not to think anymore; trying not to smell the arousal rolling off Mr. Piccolo the closer they came to the brothel. It wasn’t his place to question why Piccolo was using a brothel.

Gohan parked the car, letting the car roll down the street a bit further than necessary before he killed the engine and stepped out, opening Mr. Piccolo’s door. He blushed, unable to look at his Don, his tail slapping the side of the car several times in rapid succession. He didn’t want to be here and he didn’t want Mr. Piccolo to be here.

They walked back up the street, Gohan trailing two paces behind Mr. Piccolo, his shoulders hunching a bit more the closer they got to the brothel. Mr. Piccolo led the way and Gohan followed dutifully, though he wished he could just wait outside. The smell hit him first before the sights and sounds did. The entire building smelled of cheap perfume, humans and namekians, a luxurious fox and cat, and even a saiyan. Their scent, their arousal, and their boredom, it hit him in the face and he swallowed hard, his head dizzy with the smells bombarding him as the door opened and a patron stepped out, who looked to be a police officer.

Gohan fidgeted on the sidewalk, rubbing his palm against his thigh. “M…Mr. Piccolo? Do I have to be here? Can’t I wait in the car?”

Mr. Piccolo turned and frowned at him, red eyes catching the street lamps as they began to light around them as darkness fell. “What is your job? To wait in the car or stay by my side?”

He licked his lips, cheeks flushing. Mr. Piccolo seemed to take that as his answer and he stepped inside. Gohan followed close on his heels.

Rich drapes in purples and burgundies shrouded the building, every wall covered in velvet and silk. They passed two bouncers, and a customer with his head bowed, hurrying past them with his hat shielding his face and a flowery scent mired in bitterness lingered in his wake. Paintings of the most erotic and suggestive natures began to appear the further into the building they went, and they passed through a veil of beads into the far away room at the back of the building.

Gohan’s eyes widened as he took in the open and vaulted center room. It arched high above him, skylights high above in stained glass. Balconies ringing all sides like a theater to the debauched. Live plants filled the space, turning it into a jungle of sin.

Gohan’s tail slapped a table, causing it to tap the wall. He jumped and snatched at it, pulling it close, and keeping it still. Sensual was the only word to describe the texture and color all around him. It overloaded his senses, made him feel sensitive as his sight and touch were stimulated even before he’d entered the room with the women.

A saiyan lounged in the center of a large and rounded sofa in the middle of the room. Arms above her head, eyes closed, she rested where she lay, a breast exposed, her robe half open, and her tail swayed along the edge of the ottoman. The fox he had scented outside, moved past, winking at him as her tail brushed across Gohan’s fists.

His tail twitched as her fur touched his.

A namekian was also there, dressed as the women in the sense that he appeared sensual and carefree. Loose fitting pants hung dangerously low on his hips. A headdress of sparkling jewels and earrings colored to enhance his otherness. A filmy vest that hid nothing, and his neck exposed to the air, long and alluring. Gohan felt his cheeks flash hot. The namek’s eyes darkened with hunger as he took in Piccolo’s form. His lips parted anxiously.

Gohan puffed himself up and stepped a little in front of Piccolo, his tail still gripped tightly in his fist, bristling as his heart pounded.

“Gohan, wait here. I’ll be in room number four on the main floor. I’ll speak with the Madame first.” He explained evenly and walked through the crowd of women tittering to him, smiling and pawing his arms in greeting. Many of them seemed to know him well…

Swallowing hard, his tail jerked in his grip. Inching his way toward a rather enormous pot that could have been a small pool save the tree growing from it, it gave him something to study. Focusing on something, anything, just not on Piccolo talking to a very gaunt woman with a cigarette holder in her right hand, a flapper dress done up with bead-work, and a glass bead fan in hand to make any woman of means jealous of the craftsmanship.

He had to ignore it all. Ignore the way the woman smirked and nodded, motioning to the room with the four stars on the door. He had to ignore the fact that Mr. Piccolo turned to look at the available girls. He had to ignore the way the namekian whore sauntered up to him, no kava, and hips swaying unnaturally for a namekian’s muscular and male physic; strategically done to entice other species. Gohan had to ignore the way Piccolo allowed him to hang on him, listening to him intently with a tilt of his head.

Gohan stiffened and held his breath, his tail’s tip flicking rapidly. Piccolo shook his head, and the namekian pouted and turned away. He could smell it, Piccolo’s scent dominating even the women within the room and the musky activities they had participated in not minutes or hours before.

When Piccolo’s roaming eyes stopped, Gohan caught his breath, fingers going slack, and his tail slipped free, falling limp behind him. Piccolo towered over the saiyan woman, and raised a brow at her languid stretch. She rolled to her knees, like a cat finding something of worth to devote her attention too, and she crawled to the edge of the ottoman as he approached her. Her fingers crawled up his legs and torso, sliding under his jacket and around his waist. Gohan heard her purr, a low, sultry sound with a lazy sway of her tail that curled in and around itself; eager, inviting.

Gohan mouth had gone dry.

Piccolo caught the women’s chin, tilted her head back, and then nodded, smirking.

Gohan’s back thudded against the wall. His fingers clutched at his shirt along his belly. His chest hurt, and it felt like a weight sat upon his lungs. The boy didn’t see Piccolo follow the woman into the room, nor did he really remember when the other women had urged him to sit on the waiting sofa, but he did and he blushed as the fox woman curled in next to him, smiling faintly.

He ducked his head, shrugged his shoulders at their questions, and waited. He could hear them, all of them, not just Mr. Piccolo – the cries from the women in the various rooms, the grunts and harsh words from their male patrons; the occasional growls behind him in room four. That was the worst. Liquid fire shot into his stomach with each sound Mr. Piccolo made.

Bowing his head, Gohan bit his lip and shielded his lap from the sight of the women around him. Piccolo moaned and Gohan closed his eyes, the fire in his belly spread, lifting, making him feel drawn tight. On edge. But knowing that woman was in there…

Mr. Piccolo… he shivered and bit his lip harder, his penis hardening between his legs.

“I’ll take care of that for ten dollars.” The vixen whispered, the tip of her cold nose tickling the edge of his ear.

He gasped and scrambled away from her, his eyes wide and his heart pounding as he leaned back on the sofa staring back at her. “Wh-what? Take care of what?” A manic laugh escaped his throat and his erection waned.

She pouted, crawling a bit closer. He could see her breasts in the gap in her robe, her nipples peaked and dark. “It is only a little oral for ten. I suppose I could make an exception this once. Perhaps, twenty five for my… full services?” she peeked at him from under her lashes, green eyes absolutely breathtaking and luring him in; the same green as Mr. Piccolo’s skin.

He blushed and it spread this time down along his neck and chest. He shivered, licked his lips, then shook his head. “N-no! No th-thank you….” He stumbled over the words, staring at the floor and thinking of anything other than Mr. Piccolo; Mr. Piccolo in the bedroom with a saiyan woman; Mr. Piccolo in that bedroom with a woman, undoubtedly enjoying everything a woman could give him.

He bowed his head and tugged on the cuffs of his jacket.

“I’ll be good, I promise.” The vixen whispered and Gohan’s blush receded.

Gohan smiled weakly and nodded. “I don’t doubt it, but… I’m all right, really.” He whispered and the fox woman pouted, drawing away from him.

“It’s all right.” Gohan sighed, and closed his eyes, his erection gone, his blush gone, but the weight on his heart grew heavier. He saw him, Slug, opening his pants, his hand in his hair. He shook his head, banishing the thought, but it lingered and he raked his fingers through his recently cut hair to brush away claws.

“You know,” The vixen slid up next to him, her fingertips dragging along his chest and her head tilting at just the right angle to create a feast for his eyes that traveled down her neck to her exposed chest and belly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man simply sit and wait here before. Most bodyguards always…indulge themselves…what with such a selection surrounding him.” Her breath tickled his neck and Gohan blushed, looking away, his shoulders stiff and his hands gripping his knees.

“M…Mr. Piccolo told me to wait.”

She smiled as she would to a small child. “Mr. Piccolo has never complained when his other bodyguards have participated in the wares.”

Gohan stiffened and he swallowed hard. The idea that Nail had done things with the whores left a sour taste in his mouth. But hearing the grunts, the movements from the bedroom, the banging of the headboard against the wall – Gohan’s chest tightened and his belly dropped; he felt like he couldn’t breathe. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested.” He choked out.

Snorting and pulling away, the vixen stood, placing only a cursory hand to her robe to pull it back over her breast. “Well then, you’re a waste of my time.” Her nose lifted in the air and she turned, her tail slapping at his face.

He smelled it on her, her invitation to him, her hopes he would find her haughty dismissal arousing; but he didn’t.

Delectable cries jerked him from his thoughts and he straightened his back, turning sharply toward the bedroom door. Silence thundered from the room abruptly and Gohan stood, moving around the couch and crossing the room to stand at the door. He couldn’t breathe! What happened? Mr. Piccolo hadn’t called for him, but the silence ate at his instincts. The silence taunted him with possibilities that lay on the other side.

A giggle tinkled from the bedroom and he sighed, shoulders falling – just before his chest tightened again. He stood there, staring at the floor, his hand gripping at his shirt against his stomach. They were laying there in bed; together; behind that door.

It took another twenty minutes before Piccolo stepped out, stopping short after nearly walking into Gohan.

The boy blushed and he looked away, his tail hanging low and pressing to the back of his thigh. He stepped away from Mr. Piccolo, bowing his head.

“Who is this?” a sensual voice cooed from behind Piccolo and Gohan’s face turned fire hot. “He certainly is a cute one.” Her voice husked, low and humming, luring him to look at her.

She was gorgeous now that Gohan could really see her. Lush dark hair cut short, eyes like a midnight sky with sparks of life still dancing in her eyes, and so strong and lithe. She wasn’t like the other girls, nothing but skin and bones to appear thin and beautiful. She truly was strong, a saiyan woman with defined muscles and a healthy glow. Her tail swayed, slowly, back and forth, brushing across Piccolo’s wrist and Gohan swallowed hard, looking away. He glanced at Mr. Piccolo’s emotionless face, off to the side where a few of the girls talked, and back to the saiyan’s face; anywhere really but her tail’s playful touches.

“A shy one? I don’t think I’ve ever met a shy bodyguard, Mr. Don Jr.” Her voice held a note of teasing there, her eyes sparkling as she winked up at Mr. Piccolo, to get only a grunt from him. She chuckled, deep and feminine.

Piccolo snorted and Gohan looked to him, his fingers trembling. Did he disgrace him? What if Mr. Piccolo had expected him to act like the other bodyguards? Was he supposed to find this woman sexually attractive? She was beautiful, but, Gohan studied Mr. Piccolo’s features and his tail lashed at the air.

The woman smiled, tapping a finger against her cheek as she curled into Piccolo, gazing up at him with a smile and a purr on her lovely red lips. “You truly do have a thing for us saiyans, hmm?” She smiled as Piccolo snorted, looking away from her. She ran her hand down his chest and across his belly, dipping her fingers into his slacks and trailing them around till she curled those perfectly filed nails around his hip. Her shoulder lifted and her eyes fell to Gohan, gazing upon him with a little smile.

“Mr...Mr. Piccolo?” Gohan licked his lips. His tail jerked straight and rose slowly. “Do you want me to warm the car?”

The whore pulled away from Piccolo abruptly and reached out, her fingers curling under Gohan’s chin and her dark, pupil filled eyes stared at him, assessing him, and her tail reached out to him, brushing along the inside of his wrist. “Hmmm. He’s a handsome one.” She said to Piccolo, stepping closer, her breasts brushing against Gohan’s chest and Gohan held his breath.

“Anyana…” Piccolo growled, his eyes narrowing.

She looked over her shoulder at him, her smile sly and lusty. “Perhaps you will allow me to make him a man the next time you come and see me?” She said and Gohan felt his face instantly burn hot.

Piccolo raised a brow, and Gohan’s mouth dried out. Why wasn’t he protesting? He opened his mouth, sputtering for words.

“Can he join us next time? Please, Mr. Don?” Anyana’s voice purred and her fingers trailed down Gohan’s chest. “I’ll be ever so good for you both.”

Gohan stared, eyes wide, and his blood stopped moving through his body. Cold and numb. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, he could barely feel the air entering his lungs. Gohan watched Piccolo because if he looked away, what the whore said would be true. Anyana leaned against his side, her tail curling around his and he didn’t care because Piccolo hadn’t said anything to stop the whore’s offer to bring him into the bedroom with Mr.Piccolo the next time he visited.

“It will cost more; but for a sweet virgin like him?” She tilted her head against Gohan’s shoulder, inhaling his scent, “I think I can make an exception. It is rare that I get to christen a truly powerful saiyan man like him these days.”

Piccolo sighed, pulling his eyes away from Gohan with a scowl and he stared at the woman. Gohan’s stomach wrenched.

“Perhaps.” Piccolo said.

Gohan swallowed hard, heart racing, and his tail lashed at the air. What could he possibly do?

Piccolo frowned and sighed, “Thank you, Anyana, it was a lovely evening.” He then pushed past her, fists clenched. “Gohan, come.”

He jerked and pulled away from the woman, blushing as she winked at him, pressing her fingers to her cheek and stood there, watching them go.

The darkened hallway loomed over him, like the stuffy velvet was crowding him over Gohan’s head. He hurried, walking a bit closer to Piccolo than he should and he stared at his Don’s shoes. His nose twitched as the woman’s scent lingered around them and his stomach twisted uncomfortably.

They stepped out onto the street, the evening air crisp and sharp against his skin. He shrugged in his jacket, picking up the pace so he could walk Piccolo to the car and open the door for him. He gripped the cold metal, rubbing the smooth handle with his thumb. His fingers gripped the edge of the door, waiting, watching the ground as Piccolo’s feet stepped up – then stopped.

He really shouldn’t, but Gohan looked at him, staring into red eyes that burned into him, eating at his heart and burning molten lead into his soul the way those eyes search his. Gohan couldn’t even blush.

Piccolo raised his hand, gripping the back of Gohan’s head and stared at him, the door between them and Gohan gripped at the metal all the tighter.

“You did well. You handled yourself respectfully and business-like. I am proud of you.”

Gohan’s cheeks colored and he chastised himself. He shouldn’t blush, Piccolo was his Don and he was supposed to be his Bodyguard. Weakness was unacceptable.

Piccolo narrowed his eyes and Gohan’s stomach flipped. Ruby red eyes bore into him and he gripped the door between them all the tighter. “The woman is right. You are no longer a child."

Swallowing hard, Gohan nodded his head in a jerky up and down way. He could feel Piccolo’s claws prickle at the back of his neck.

"You can join us next time. My treat.” Piccolo pulled back abruptly and climbed into the car, leaving Gohan to stare, a lump in his throat forming.

 

Carefully prying his fingers off the door, Gohan closed it behind his Don and he took his place in the front seat. Starting the car up, he pulled away from the curb with two false starts before he actually paid attention to the traffic around him, and slipped into its flow with a pounding heart and sweaty palms.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I've discovered this horrible habit I have that involves being utter garbage and NOT UPDATING. I'm sorry. What happened was that I wrote this part out but I didn't have the next chapter, so I was going to wait till I had another chapter before I posted. But then HOW the next chapter happened didn't seem to come to me...so I put it off. Finally sat down one day, wrote it all out (and the following chapter) and was all stoked... and then Chapter 15. Awe, Chapter 15. I loathe Chapter 15 with so much passion its ridiculous. But heres the things, I don't hate the CONTENT of Chapter 15; oh no, I hate the actual number 15 having to do with that chapter. Lets put it this way; I wrote Chapter 15 so many times, I now have 18 chapters... that's right! I wrote Chapter 15 4 times and ended up pushing that chapter forward because I kept realizing I needed one more scene. I was so frustrated and hating of Chapter 15, that I jumped forward in time and wrote three other chapters making the count now to 22 chapters... sigh.
> 
> Then I lost 15,000 words.
> 
> Good news is, I found it saved RANDOMLY in a side folder; but I felt like bad luck was creeping up on me; so I put it away for a while. Otherwise, I probably would have strangled my own writing. Bad idea.
> 
> SO ANYWAY; now that I have given myself time to recharge, I decided I would post this AWKWARD chapter, and be a horrible author and TEASE YOU ALL.
> 
> I hope you liked. (and I love reviews)
> 
> ~Melissa the Damgel


	14. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18 years old - Piccolo clenched his fists, uncertain why one moment seeing Gohan grown and a man was a wonder, and the next moment a terrible thing to behold.

 

~~~~~13~~~~~

~~~~~2 Weeks Later~~~~~

18 Years Old

 

Piccolo buckled his pants and studied the boy's dark head which remained bowed in respect. The brat had been with him for nine years now; dressing him for seven of those. Yet, he hadn't realized how much the kid had grown till just a few weeks ago. Gohan the brat had changed into Gohan the man. Strong, smart, respectful, and loyal. As loyal as Nail, really. Muscles replaced baby fat, smiles replaced tears, and laughter circulated him like a wind. Tall and powerful, Piccolo saw the boy in a new light, and it was strange.

Relatively decent, Piccolo grunted and Gohan obediently approached with a smile and began the process of dressing him. He held his shirt for him, smoothing it over his shoulders before buttoning it. Quick and efficient, Gohan had his cufflinks and tie picked out before he even had time to consider what he wanted. The brat's intuition, however, was correct - red. The same set Gohan had chosen seven years ago. The set he now favored. Gohan helped him with his vest, and then his jacket, and his hands hovered at his throat as he knotted the tie, taking a moment to make certain it was even and the perfect length. Then he smoothed it down his chest, tightened it and straighten his collar.

Thumbs brushed across his throat, and knuckles trailed along his jaw. Piccolo didn't breathe. Sparks of heat raced through his throat and down into his chest. He snatched at the fingers, and met Gohan's startled eyes. The tightness in his throat stole his voice, and he salivated hot and quick. Piccolo swallowed hard. He clutched Gohan's wrist, bowed his head toward him, and stopped himself just inches from his face. He hovered, the boy's wide, dark eyes, locked with his, and smelling like soap and cinnamon.

Gohan's tail twisted and curled on itself behind him.

"You... have a birthday. Today." He said and swallowed back the saliva.

"Today, yes." Gohan whispered.

He didn't know what to say. The Don of the Namekian Family, and he was at a loss for words because of his saiyan bodyguard. "Then... congratulations are in order. Another year passed and I wasn't forced to kill you."

Gohan laughed at that, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Thank you, Mr. Piccolo. It has been an honor to serve under you."

Piccolo released his hand, cleared his throat, and pushed back the rawness settling there. "Good," Piccolo straightened his jacket and walked past the brat... no, young man. The brat was grown now. His chest tightened and Piccolo clenched his fists, uncertain why one moment seeing Gohan grown and a man was a wonder, and the next moment a terrible thing to behold.

"Send Nail down to my office, I have a task for him. Also, tell Launch she may have the evening off. I have some business to attend to and we won't be home for dinner."

"Mr. Piccolo?" Gohan cocked his head, and just like that, Piccolo saw the boy still inside, innocent and pure. "Where are we going?"

"To see 18." He turned then, leaving , and settled downstairs in his office. He swallowed for the hundredth time in the last few minutes. His claws hovered above his throat, his antennae bobbing. Just the faintest of touches with his own claws had Piccolo pulling his fingers back and clenching his fists atop his desk.

A knock on the door distracted him and Nail stepped inside, his actions smooth and graceful as he closed the door. "You called for me?" He crossed the room, stopping just in front of his desk, holding his wrist in front of him, open long vest today with his _kava_ clean and crisp at his throat. Piccolo realized he wanted to wear his own _kava_ today, to hide behind its voluptuous safety instead of relying on the human form of modesty.

Now wasn't the time. He had more important things to focus on.

He pulled a small drawer open and retrieved a letter within, sealed, written up days ago, but withheld due to an uncommon hesitancy Piccolo felt regarding its contents. Yet, no excuse he made for himself seemed legitimate anymore. He was stalling.

"Yes, I need you to deliver a message and bring their answer back to me immediately."

"Of course." Nail bowed his head.

Piccolo frowned, tapping a finger on his desk, avoiding Nail's questioning gaze, and he stared at the wax seal of the envelope. His antennae twitched several times, and his hand shook just enough that he scowled and thrust the letter into Nail's outstretched hand.

"I will be at the Red Ribbon speakeasy late this afternoon, around five. Meet me there with their reply, I will know how to proceed from there."

"Yes, my Don. To whom am I to deliver the message too?"

"Madam Florentine."

Nail's brow twitched but he bowed to him, always so obedient even when he didn't approve. "Yes. Right away, Sir." he said, and turned, striding out of his office, and snapped the door shut.

Piccolo frowned, staring after him and wondering at his uncharacteristic behavior. Nail could be allowed lapses in etiquette now and again, but to show emotion in such a manner...

Another knock to his door and Gohan poked his head into the office. The moment he smiled had Piccolo biting his cheek to keep from smirking back. The brat carried his breakfast tray, a hop to his steps, and his tail swaying happy and content.

"Mr. Piccolo, Launch wanted me to thank you for the evening off tonight. She seemed really excited about it - though, she did worry that she had over steeped the tea leaves yesterday and hoped she didn't offend."

Piccolo waved away his chatter, though truth be told, he didn't mind it, he just liked the way Gohan ignored him to continue talking about his household with a smile on his face and his tail curling behind him.

He took his cup of tea, blowing across the steaming surface to cool it, and Piccolo pushed one of the butter cookies toward Gohan, and just like that, that smile he wore for everyone brightened and turned positively brilliant, just for him.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Gohan stayed with Mr. Piccolo through the entirety of his morning meetings. He read through documents and contracts, making suggestions for changes, or offering them to him to be signed.

At one o'clock, Gohan beat a namekian Enforcer for running from a fight that had broken out in the Oasis several nights ago as a warning. His knuckles felt hot and raw afterward, and Mr. Piccolo offered his handkerchief so he could wash his hands of blood. The rich fabric felt soft against his skin.

As three o'clock chimed, Gohan helped Mr. Piccolo into his coat and offered his hat to him. Mr. Piccolo took it, holding it by the brim at his side as he studied him in return, and for a brief moment, Gohan wasn't certain he was going to let him go with him. His tail fell, limp behind him and he frowned, his stomach twisting from the memory of several weeks back. He didn't know if he could do that again; standing outside, nothing more than a statue to frame the doorway.

Knowing Mr. Piccolo was in there with a strange girl.

Mr. Piccolo's large hand settled atop his head, and his thumb brushed away the worry lines between his brows. Gohan's face warmed.

They stared at one another, his heartbeats increasing at an unsteady pace to counteract the persistent and consistent ticks of the mantel clock.

"We need a new book to read. We'll finish Homer soon enough. We'll stop by the bookshop before we arrive for our meeting."

Gohan's heart fluttered and a smile spread across his face, his skin tingling where Mr. Piccolo's touch brushed his skin. "I have been wanting to read _The Good Earth._ I've heard good reviews on it," his voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears.

Mr. Piccolo nodded, and offered his coat to him. "Good. We'll pick it up then."

Gohan blushed, taking the worn jacket from his Don and fitting his hat on his head as they headed out the door. His heart fluttering. They loaded into the car, and Mr. Piccolo leaned back in his seat. Gohan could see him rubbing at his eyes in the rear view mirror.

"Mr. Piccolo? Would you like some tea first before we leave?"

"No," Piccolo shook his head and dragged his hand down his face, his red eyes avoiding him. "No. I'm all right." He gazed out the window, "We'll stop by the bookshop first, then my meeting. We need to speak with 18."

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Gohan opened the door for Piccolo. Nail, already waiting at the entrance to The Red Ribbon, offered Mr. Piccolo a letter as he approached. Piccolo regarded the yellowed envelope before opening it with a well placed claw along the sealed flap, and scanned its contents. Huffing, he pocketed it with a small nod.

Gohan glanced around the area outside as his Don entered 18's establishment. He spied the lookout Enforcer, Harmon, sitting on his bench watching the building outside a shopping center with a fabric store to their left and a grocer across the street. Gohan searched for roving eyes before he followed his Don.

Dressed in his dark suit and the shiny shoes that matched, they clicked on the hardwood floor of the false travel agency front. It was clean, though dark, and decorated with posters of faraway places that Gohan assumed most people wouldn't wish to visit, such as a private island with nothing but a small hut and a coconut tree as depicted behind the desk. Only two lamps lit the room, bringing shadows to life in the small space. One lamp sat on Krillin's desk, the other stood in a corner next to him where his daughter wiggled in her tiny chair. Krillin manned the front counter, newspaper open, his feet up on the counter, and a full head of dark hair. Marin hummed to herself, drawing pictures at a little table that had a world globe in the center, her blonde pigtails curled and bouncing as she hummed.

The moment the five year old spotted him though, she squealed and flung her pencil to the table. "Uncre Piccoro! Gohan!" She giggled and ran to them, her arms flying around first Piccolo's legs and then Gohan's.

He smiled down at the little girl and immediately scooped her up, holding her above his head before he hiked her up onto his hip. He shared a laugh with her as she hugged him about the neck.

"Gohan!" Krillin smiled and stood - then he hesitated and offered a nervous smile and waved his hand with wagging fingers. "Don Piccolo, sir, it's a pleasure to see you. May I show you inside?"

Mr. Piccolo narrowed his eyes and Gohan shifted the girl nervously in his arms. He didn't want to beat the man for simply being impolite. Not in front of Marin, and it just felt wrong to do so. He thought of Krillin as a friend. He inched toward Piccolo and his tail flicked out, curling about Piccolo's wrist before he blushed and looked away, focusing on Marin to distract himself from the sharp look his Don sent him.

The tip of his tail flicked back and forth.

"Yes." Piccolo's deep voice filled the room, and Krillin fumbled with his key as he turned and unlocked the backroom door. Nail stepped inside first, followed by Piccolo, and Gohan brought up the rear.

"Uncre Piccoro." Marin called, reaching for his jacket.

"Now, Marin, you know Mr. Piccolo is very busy." her father scolded, shaking his finger as he sifted through his ring of keys as they came to a secondary door, one that was in the floor of their establishment.

The brilliance of 18's speakeasy was that there was one way in, but seven different ways out. No one who entered would be seen leaving unless 18 approved it. At each exit, she had both human Enforcers and namekian Enforcers standing by to guard them. Her multitude of brothers rotated shifts, and her father paid the police off, both protecting their investment as well as misleading the police as to the true location of the speakeasy. It was the jewel of Piccolo's collective.

Marin took hold of Piccolo's shoulders and half fell, half jumped from Gohan's arms in her attempt to get to the namek. Piccolo grunted and twisted, taking the girl into his arms and he narrowed his eyes at her, holding her up under her armpits awkwardly.

She smiled up at him and cupped his cheeks. "I miss you! You don't come see me."

"I am busy."

"Mama say that, but she give me kisses and read stories, and she say I priddy and pways dolwies wif me!" She stuck her lower lip out at him and Gohan chuckled. Piccolo scowled and recoiled from the pink puff-ball that was Marin.

"All right, sweetie, come here." Krillin laughed and reached up to take her from Piccolo, but the Don refused and the look of immediate fear washed over the man's face.

"Marin," Piccolo said, pushing his shoulders back as he looked down at her. "I do not have time for stories and dollies. But I will try to come and see you more often. I should be spending more time with my investment anyhow. Your mother has build a miraculous establishment here and I need to be certain I am not ignoring it."

Marin frowned as she stared at Piccolo and glanced at Gohan as if hoping he could help her with those big words, but finally she smiled. "You pway tea party wif me! Okay!" she wiggled in joy and did her best to hug him before Piccolo relinquished control and allowed Krillin to pry her off his neck. So small, and yet, she possessed a grip of steel.

Krillin sighed as he hugged his daughter and turned once more to the remaining door and pulled the hatch open. Below, music bubbled upward and Nail stepped down, leading the way.

Gohan patted Marin on the head and smiled at her. "You be a good girl."

"Okay!" she waved him goodbye, and he followed Piccolo down. The hatch locked and sealed behind them.

18's speakeasy practically sparkled in rich colors and low lighting. Soft music played from a stage at the back of the room, hiding the exits behind the curtains to their back, the bar sat to their right, and tables and booths lined the left wall leaving the floor open for the handful of dance partners that swayed to the music. Handsome men, lovely ladies, a handful of namekians all lounging in the peaceful atmosphere of the speakeasy as they talked with strangers and friends alike, made business deals, or whispered to each other in darkened booths, unheeding of the world around.

Two nameks, in fact, were in possibly the darkest corner of all, sitting close, leaning into each other as one whispered in the other's ear. At least, Gohan assumed so until he heard one gasp and saw him shiver, gripping the other by the shoulder, his face flushed and antennae straight and bobbing. Gohan felt his face turn red as he watched the namek lick across the other's neck.

Nail nudged him with an elbow, and Gohan nodded sheepishly as he focused back on Piccolo and the room around him.

Smoke hung heavy in the air, a shroud of wispy white that swirled as the owners of the cigarettes and cigars moved. It left Gohan lightheaded, like he walked in a dream. 18 herself smirked from a stool at the end of the bar, dressed to kill in a black and shimmery flapper dress that reached her knees and a red shawl that hung loose in the crook of her arms. The black feather in her headband swept backward, her blonde hair curled and pinned, with red rubies sparkling in her ears. She stood, heels tapping to the beat of the music. She held out her hand as she approached Piccolo, smiling in pleasure as he kissed her knuckles.

"Why, if it isn't the Don of the namekians. What do I owe this pleasure?"

"I have come to check in with you. I heard there was an incident here the other night. Two saiyans came in and caused trouble?"

She waved her hand flippantly, ruby bracelet slipping down her wrist. "Nothing your boys couldn't handle."

Piccolo narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. "And?"

18 rolled her eyes, "Yes, I may have had to hit one of the brutes."

"He ended up in the downtown river."

"Minor detail." She motioned them to a side room where a booth and table sat behind a curtain of velvet. "Please, sit."

"You told me you didn't want your family endangered." Piccolo huffed.

Gohan took his post at the entryway of the little room, his hands behind his back and tail swaying. Though he kept vigilant and watched the occupants in the main room, his ears twitched as he listened to the conversation, his mind already working.

"I laid a false trail. No one will be able to follow it back to me. If anything, the wound will look like another saiyan gave the man the injury."

Piccolo grew silent and Gohan frowned. It wasn't smart. It was stupid; possibly the stupidest thing the woman had done thus far.

18's dress rustled and clinked with beads as she moved, "Don Piccolo, I have already gone over this with my husband. The fight we had last night, I can guarantee, has chastised me enough as it is. I understand my error, but I have made certain our tracks were covered."

"A simple pay off to the police isn't what I'm worried about."

"I worry too about the saiyan retaliation. That is why I contacted you immediately."

Gohan peeked at the pair sitting across from each other, 18 looked as poised and aloof as ever, and Piccolo stoic and his face firmly blank. They stared one another down, the minutes ticked by, the music started anew as song after song played, and then 18 scowled at him.

"You should have been a poker player, Don Piccolo. Hell, I can't tell what you're thinking other than disapproval."

"I'm also annoyed."

18 rolled her eyes. "I wanted to speak to you to request a few extra Enforcers to work during the evenings. I think no more than a few weeks, and its simply because I'm being paranoid that I ask this of you."

Piccolo drummed his fingers upon the table, frowning. "Five additional men during the evening, three more during the day shift... and one shall remain upstairs at all times, as a lookout, for your husband."

Her brow twitched, "That is a bit more than I was expecting."

"You are a valuable investment. I will not see your hard work, or my hard earned gains, gone to waste."

18 nodded and stood from the booth. Piccolo followed and offered his hand to her. She took it after a moment, staring the namek in the eyes the whole time. "That boy of yours wasn't lying. You look after your own."

Piccolo grunted. "He exaggerated."

"I can see that." She smirked back and turned, sauntering out of the room, pausing only long enough to look Gohan over. A smile played at her lips. "Happy birthday."

Gohan's mouth dropped open and a blush colored his cheeks as she left to speak with her bartender.

"That was very generous of you, Don Piccolo." Nail said, and eyed him curiously.

Piccolo grunted and he looked away from Nail, catching Gohan's eyes instead. Gohan smiled, swelling with pride. His Don was so good to his people, to his companies, to his acquisitions, it was a wonder Piccolo hadn't taken over the city yet. His cheeks flushed and he bowed his head, tail lashing behind him.

"Gohan, sit. We didn't come here just for business."

The request surprised him. Glancing to Nail in case he disapproved, he found the namek, strangely, refusing to look at him, his eyes downcast and his hands held in front of him. He seemed distant somehow.

Lowering himself onto the seat like he half expected it to bite him, he peeked up at Piccolo then back to the table, his hands gripping his knees. Piccolo grunted in return. The curtains parted and plates of food swept in. Pork, beef, chicken, noodles, vegetables in gravy, rice, buns, and sweet sauces, all laid out in every combination possible. A bottle of wine, a glass of beer, a bottle of old Central City whiskey - imported from the East after the Prohibition Act was signed - and a tray of sweets completed the arrangement. Gohan's stomach growled, and for a moment, he could only stare in awe. It all smelled so good. Then the cake appeared, carried between two women, all smiles and giggles, their bobbed hair cutting fashionable lines along their jaws.

Gohan swallowed hard, darting a glance at Mr. Piccolo. The namek nodded once, and motioned to the food. Eyes so wide he was certain they would roll from his head any second. Mouth watering, Gohan's stomach felt so very empty. This feast could not possibly be just for him? He looked to his Don, staring at him, heart racing, and he felt so very warm. The fur on his tail bristled, the tip rapidly twitching. "M... Mr. Piccolo?" His voice squeaked. With an effort of sheer will, Gohan met his eyes and Mr. Piccolo returned the look. His antennae twitched.

"You have been a loyal companion all these years. I wanted to show you the respect I hold for you."

Gohan blushed, his throat tightening.

Mr. Piccolo waved his hand, "Eat. Drink."

With shaking hands and a flutter in his chest, Gohan delved into the meal and allowed himself to enjoy it to its fullest.

The band outside their little alcove began to play, and several women joined them. They danced or sat with him and laughed as they fed him. Gohan felt how furious his blush was and tried to escape their grasp, but the ever so faint amusement on Mr. Piccolo's face kept him from running away like a child, and Nail controlled the chaos around him in his constant efficiency.

And Gohan tried beer for the first time. He recoiled in disgust at the aftertaste, though it was worth it as he saw a soft smile on Piccolo's face. Nail eventually came to sit with him, also aiding to distract many of the females from crawling all over him. Gohan shot him a look of thanks. Nail simply offered a wan smile and poured himself a finger of whiskey before he drank it.

Gohan told stories of his adventures with Piccolo, like the time Piccolo had kicked him out of the car nearly fifty miles from the compound and drove off.

"You were running your mouth off and annoying me." Piccolo grumbled.

"I was thirteen!"

"You got back just fine." Piccolo said, looking away.

"Because Nail saved me! He drove all night looking for me." Gohan waved his hand toward the other namek.

Nail shrugged. "I owed you for that time in the warehouse."

"Oh!" one of the girls cooed, "Did you save his life?" She fingered Gohan's tie.

He blushed and shied away from her touch, fixing his tie so it once again sat correctly at his throat. "Well, uh..."

"It involved frogs."

Good food, music of the best quality, with Mr. Piccolo and Nail as company - it was the single happiest moment of his life.

He laughed and joked with the two nameks who knew him best. He snorted beer out his nose, Nail actually barked out with a laugh, and Mr. Piccolo cracked a smile. Nail told embarrassing stories, and Mr. Piccolo made them worse. The bar girls giggled in his ears, wrapping themselves around his arms, kissing his cheeks, and playing with his tail - much to his mortification. He squealed the first time, and they thought it so funny, they took turns trying to get him to make that noise again. Mr. Piccolo finally stepped in with a wave of his hand, dismissing them and sending for different girls.

At one point, Gohan found himself being dragged out of his seat and led to the dance floor. He flushed hot, his hands stiff on her waist, and trying very hard to keep her in place so she couldn't drape herself over the front of him. She pouted, making her eyes bigger than he remembered. Gohan ducked his head, swaying to the slow jazz song the singer on stage crooned.

"It's your birthday. Don't you want to have fun?"

"I already am." Gohan smiled, and the girl frowned, head tilted to the side.

The band screeched to a halt, and the musicians on stage shouted, falling from their chairs. The loud cracking of gunfire dotted the ceiling, leaving a trail of holes in the plaster, making it rain down like heavy snow. Hordes of bodies pressed toward the entrance, pounding on the trap door.

The saiyans smirked and parted like ice cracking for a larger saiyan entering from a back tunnel. With a heavy black semi-automatic propped on his shoulder, the saiyan grimaced at the crowd and puffed out his chest. "Now, now. No need to scream. We just need to speak to the little lady who runs this place."

Gohan hissed, spinning the dancer behind him even as he inched his way back toward the alcove his Don and Nail were sheltered in. His steps slow, he bowed his head, hoping to be dismissed.

"Check back there." The large man barked out, his voice deep but nasally. "Don't need no surprises now..." he trailed off, and Gohan flinched, raising his eyes and meeting the large saiyan's gaze staring right at him. "Well now, what do we have here?"

Gohan gripped the dancer's elbow, making certain she remained behind. Several sets of saiyan eyes settled on him, eying him up and down, nostrils flared, jaws tight. He may be young by most Enforcer standards, but he knew his job, and he knew body language was half the battle. He pushed his shoulders back, stared up at the brute as several saiyans pushed past him into the alcove, and another three stopped in front of him, keeping him in place from rushing to his Don, and they looked him over with a critical eye.

One of the men started laughing. He reached behind him and grabbed his tail, and Gohan yelped in pain. "Boss, we got ourselves a pup here!" he laughed again and turned back to Gohan, "Today's yer lucky day, kid, you help us, and I'll put in a good word for you to Don Vegeta."

Shouts rose from the backroom and Gohan turned, his heart in his throat. One of the saiyans flew from the curtains and landed hard, groaning as he held his face, blood gushing from his nose. Not a second later the second saiyan stumbled out of the backroom with Nail twisting his arm behind his back, and gripping his hair to hold him still. Mr. Piccolo stepped around him. Back straight, shoulders squared, he wiped his knuckles clean of blood as though he were brushing away salt. But it was his eyes that burned into the intruder's and made all close enough to see make ice run through their veins.

"I don't appreciate interruptions." Mr. Piccolo snorted, lifting his chin and staring down his nose.

"You..." The large saiyan Enforcer said, eyes wide, his gun raised in front of him.

"Gohan." Piccolo said, considering his knuckles before he dropped the soiled handkerchief. "Get them."

Gohan elbows the saiyan holding his tail, crunching his nose and dropping him in one move. He leapt and twisted, and his foot connected with the brute's face and sent him crashing to the ground. Before he even had his feet fully on the ground, his hands were out, one breaking another nose, the other, he snatched the barrel of a gun and shoved it right back into the man's gut, and in the process, loosening his grip.

Nail had always taught him if he were to use a gun, hold it proper and aim careful because there is less chance of someone taking his gun from him and using it against him.

A man punched him across the cheek, hard, but not as hard as Mr. Piccolo's training. Gohan moved with the force, stepping back and twisting on the ball of his foot, absorbing the blow so it felt no more than a brush of air. In the same move, he stepped back, giving himself room, and snap kicked the saiyan in the gut. He wrenched the second man's gun away as he gagged and doubled over. Nail darted past him, his long vest gone, and ready for battle, but his _kava_ remained around his neck. He met his own set of saiyans in a silent blur of green motion, and cracking bones.

A new opponent charged him, yelling like a ninny, and with a sweep of his feet, Gohan knocked him flat to his back and pounced, hitting the saiyan before he knew what he was doing. Gunshots fired and Gohan ducked, rolling away and back to his feet, fists up, stance wide and strong. Though he wasn't expecting a chair, his stance allowed him to catch it and threw it right back in the face of his assailant.

All hell broke loose then. 18 pulled a rifle from under the bar, and as calm as could be she shot a saiyan in the chest. Piccolo casually stepped around Gohan and punched the large saiyan in the nose as he leveled a gun on him. He didn't go down so easily.

"Piccolo!" Nail yelled, spinning past his opponents like he was dancing, smooth, graceful and strong; perfect namekian form.

Gohan stepped in front of his Don and took the punch intended for Piccolo. "Mr. Piccolo, get out of here!" He blocked a boxer's punch and side stepped a knee. He took the man's wrist, wrenched it to the side and with a swipe of his leg he put the large man down, knocking the wind out of him. He stomped down on his ribs, breaking two and cracking five others. The man howled in a gagged and airless way.

Piccolo scowled and kicked the saiyan in the face. "He was mine."

"And its my job to protect you. Now get behind me." Gohan glared and twisted on the ball of his foot, snapping his foot up and around in a crescent kick and the saiyan fell into the drum set on stage.

Nail disarmed a man, snapping his neck as he snatched his gun away and fired, dropping a second. Piccolo roared and attacked with all the grace of his race, but with the momentum of a freight train.

"I remember you..." Gohan heard a saiyan say, the man's eyes wide as he stared up at Nail.

"I remember you too." Nail's soft voice only carried to him because he had listened for it. Nail pulled back the hammer and shot the man in the groin, then in the head.

An arm wrapped around Gohan's neck. He took hold of it and with a snarl, and Gohan leaned forward and threw the man up and over his head. He came down onto a table, shattering it.

"Don't anybody move!"

The room drew to a stop - after Piccolo pounded a man's face in and tossed him away. All eyes turned toward the bar. A saiyan held 18 in his arms, a gun to her head. She gripped his wrist, pulling it away from her throat, and gasping for a breath. Blue eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed, and with her headband gone, leaving her hair mussed on one side, she looked far more angry than disheveled.

"I would let her go if I were you." Piccolo's voice growled the words, his fangs barred and his red eyes flashing. Gohan shivered; the last time he had seen Piccolo like this was when he had found out what Slug had done.

"Sign over the rights to Don Vegeta and I'll let the bitch live."

"Savage," 18 mumbled and as swift as any of the namekian Enforcers, she drew her dress up, pulled a ladies handgun from a thigh holster, pressed the gun to the Saiyan's eye, and pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered across the mirror behind the bar and the man dropped, making a squishing sound once he hit the floorboards.

18 sighed and made a face, taking a bar rag to dab at the side of her face to wipe the man's blood and brain from her cheek. "Anyone else care to try me?" Her voice carried and filled her establishment, nothing but power and confidence, like a goddess descending from on high. The barely conscious saiyans moaned and gathered themselves up, fleeing back down the exit they had come from; the remaining dead lay with sightless eyes, mouths slack in silent admission to her superiority.

"After them," Piccolo barked and a trio of nameks took chase, hopping the stage and leaping after the handful of fleeing monkeys. "None of them live!" Piccolo added over his shoulder, his voice a roar, demanding without needing to say it that he wanted to see their heads on platters.

Once the patrons calmed, the threat gone, and the nameks already beginning the cleanup process, 18 phoned up to her husband, her hand shaking ever so faintly.

"Honey? Are you all right?" 18 said into the receiver. She sighed, her shoulders releasing the tension and she smiled, "I would like that. Hello sweetie. I hope you are being good for Daddy."

Gohan took Piccolo's hand, looking over the busted knuckles, frowning at the sight. "You need to be more careful, Mr. Piccolo."

"So do you." he said and Gohan felt his hand touch his cheek. He looked up at him and felt a blush inch over him even as the bruise forming on his cheek began to throb, and his split lip didn't feel any better. Mr. Piccolo's hand remained a warm pressure against his flesh.

He stopped himself from leaning into his touch.

"Sir, its nearly eight. I've already called the Compound and Cymbal's team is coming to help clean up this mess. I have also taken the liberty of doubling the number of Enforcers to watch over 18 and her family, and two are assigned to escort them home nightly, as well as remain with them till morning until further notice."

"Good." Piccolo said, leaving Gohan's cheek tingling from his absence as he walked with Nail, discussing matters with him. Gohan swallowed hard. His tail lashed behind him.

They thanked 18 and informed her of the Enforcers and cleanup crews on the way, and she smiled, leaning up to kiss Gohan on his good cheek and pat him on the head despite the fact she was far shorter than him. "You are a good boy." She said before waving them away.

Traveling through the dark exit tunnels with only a single source of light spaced every ten or fifteen yards apart, it gave Gohan time to recover, to breath, and replay the skirmish in his mind. It had been so very close. What if he had been too slow? One of those saiyans could have shot Piccolo; or Nail. He didn't doubt Mr. Piccolo's prowess, for the man was the best fighter he knew. But the mortality of the moment, the flash of blood and dead eyes, the terror he could have felt if Piccolo were one of those dead bodies. Gohan trembled, and he wanted to reach out and take Piccolo's hand the way he might have when he were a child.

His throat tightened.

They exited the tunnels several minutes later. Nail walked ahead to speak with one of 18's many family members. The young man - known only to Gohan as 17 -looked nothing like her, dark and crass with a carelessness about his dress. But he turned and ran down the tunnel, shouting for his partner, 16, to stay put and guard the entrance. Loyal. He couldn't ask for anything more from a family.

They walked the three blocks to retrieve the car, and Gohan held the door open for Piccolo, smiling up at him despite his belly twisting, and throat so tight he had to force the words out. "Thank you for the dinner, Mr. Piccolo. It was the best birthday I've ever had."

"It's not over yet, kid." Piccolo sat in the car and Gohan cocked his head, his tail flicking back and forth curiously. But he got the hint and he closed the door. Sliding into the driver's seat, he started the car as Nail sat in the back beside Piccolo.

"Where too?" Gohan asked and eased the car onto the street.

"Madam Florentine's House."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to skip apologizing and say I'm trash for not updating in a timely manner. Sorry. Life.  
> So this chapter isn't all that exciting... but hopefully the next chapter will make up for that. *shifty eyes*  
> Good news is, I have the next three chapters written. I just need to go back and re-read them... and chapter 17 is being annoying only because I don't want to write a fight scene. Totally me being lazy. I'll get over it.  
> And if you see any weird or random punctuation in this chapter, let me know. AO3 wasn't copy-pasting from my word document very nicely and kept putting random letters in and taking punctuation out. gah.  
> I hope you enjoyed. Review it.... I'm a whore for the reviews in the same way Roshi is a whore for the women.
> 
> ~Melissa the Damgel.


	15. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...to see his Don’s throat, thick and bobbing, so close to him…
> 
> Gohan’s tail lashed the air.
> 
> Extra Warning: This chapter contains sex*, a little bit of coercion to get things going, as well as delicious denial... as to who is screwing who... and whores. And Nail.... 
> 
> *If anyone wants to skip the sex scene, I'll leave ***!*** at the start and end of the scene for your convenience.

 ~~~~~14~~~~~

 

Gohan's blood ran cold though his veins, turning his heart into a racing lump in his chest, and his tail wrapped tight around his waist. "S... sir?" He couldn't have heard him right.

Piccolo didn't answer him. He saw him in the rear view mirror, staring out the window at the city as he drove. Palms sweating and jittery by the time he parked down the street, he sat for a moment, the keys gripped in his hand.

He could see Piccolo in the mirror, watching him and he blushed, bowing his head, hiding from his eyes, working through the words in his mind and yet finding them lacking somehow.

"Mr. Piccolo?"

"Are you going to open the door?"

"I'm not sure I want...."

Piccolo grunted and got out of the car, startling him. Piccolo opened the driver's door, staring down at him and Gohan felt so small all over again. His Don towered over him, a man of strength, of character, and he always knew what he wanted; or what other people needed. Gohan of all people should have known he shouldn't argue, but to do what he was suggesting, Gohan's stomach flipped and he wasn't certain he could.

"Come along, Gohan." He held out his hand and Gohan took it, his tail tightening around his waist.

They walked into the brothel, the sight and smells washing over him, heightening his awareness of what this building was used for. Gohan shied back, following Piccolo and Nail as they led the way. The room opened up, the same as last time, except the only people in the main room were Madam Florentine herself, and the saiyan woman, Anyana."

"Don Piccolo, I am happy you are here." The older woman smiled and took his hand in a polite handshake.

Piccolo nodded in return.

Anyana stepped forward, her tail looping behind her in excitement, her dark eyes bright, but darkening with lust. "I'm so very happy you took me up on my offer." She purred to Piccolo and leaned into him, twisting her finger about along his chest. "May I turn the boy into a man?"

"That is the idea, Anyana."

She hummed and turned her sights on Gohan, and a chill ran up his spine. A predator spying her prey and readying for the attack, it was the only way he could describe it. One minute he stood in the main room, the next, he was dragged into the private room with the four stars.

She closed the door and leaned into him, her hands rubbing along his sides, her body pressing against his. "I will be gentle. Though I will tell you right now - you don't have to be." She whispered in his ear, standing on her tiptoes to do so, and she took his earlobe into her mouth.

Gohan's face burst into heat and he pulled away from her, eyes wide, waving his hands in front of himself. "I... no! I can't..." words fumbled and lost all meaning, he pressed himself back against the door, trembling as she joined him.

"Why are you scared, little warrior? Am I not beautiful enough for you?" She pouted.

Startled, Gohan shook his head, eyes wide. "No! You are extremely beautiful! I just... I've never..." he waved his hands in the air.

"That is why I'm here. To teach you." She whispered, taking his hands and pressing one of his palms to her breast.

Gohan stared, his heart having never slowed upon realizing what they were supposed to be doing. His fingers squeezed, marveling at how soft and yet firm her breast was, but he blushed again and jerked his hand away, shying from her lips as she leaned up to kiss him.

She pouted, her lower lip poking out. "I don't normally kiss clients. I want a bit of fun too."

The thought of kissing her, of kissing anyone terrified him till the fur on his tail bristled from end to end. He fumbled for the door and stumbled into the main room.

Nail stood to the right of the door, brow raised as he looked to him.

Gohan flushed and his whole body warmed. He bowed his head, hands shaking.

This wasn't something he had wanted for himself. Not that he wanted Piccolo in there having fun with her. But he hadn't thought of the reverse. It scared him to realize he hadn't once wondered....

A firm grip clasped him on the shoulder and he jerked, spinning around and staring up at Piccolo. The namek frowned at him, his lips thin and his hold unyielding. Gohan stood still, a deer in the cross-hairs, turning his face away from his Don. He didn't know if he was ready for something like this. He had spoken with Nail years ago about sex, but it had been an accident, and that had been namekian sex. He didn't know if he actually understood human, let alone saiyan, sex that entirely well. He read about it, certainly, but it hadn't been out of some perverted desire to have it, he just wanted to learn the mechanics of it.

Piccolo turned him and pushed him back toward the room, Anyana at his side. When had she appeared?

"It will cost a little more, but, I did say I wasn't against such a dynamic." She smiled up at the Don. Gohan bit his lip.

"Perhaps you are right."

"Sir..." Nail reached for Piccolo's elbow, and Gohan could see his grip soften, even shake a little.

Piccolo lips thinned, thinking something over.

"Sir... please," Nail whispered, his face twisting up, and Gohan wasn't sure he had ever seen him look so... pained. "This is a bad idea."

Piccolo exhaled, eyes closing. His free hand formed a fist at his side, "Stand watch."

Nail looked to Gohan, a momentary look of devastation in his eyes that pierced Gohan's heart. He didn't know why he felt he was betraying him, but it was there, a heavy weight on his shoulders. Nausea threatened him. Nail's mask slipped into place, calm, and in control. Nail adopted his placid demeanor and nodded, holding his hands in front of himself and resumed his position to the side of the four star door. "As you wish, my Don."

 

***!***

 

Piccolo guided him into the bedroom, and it was the last thing he saw. Gohan couldn't look at the room without panic taking hold. He could smell everything, and everyone who had ever been in the room. It didn't smell like home, like safety. It was a foreign land dominated by the saiyan woman, pressing herself up against his side.

Anyana smiled, a tsking noise made by her tongue, as though scolding him. Gohan couldn't do it though. He looked away from her cleavage, ignored the way her hand ran down his side, and over his belly. Discomfort overwhelmed him, but there was that part of him that wanted to curl up and purr at her touch. He blushed, looking to his Don, and watched instead as her other hand began the process of unbuttoning Mr. Piccolo's shirt. And planting a kiss to the center of his chest.

"Gohan, undress." Piccolo said.

He watched them more than copied their actions. He pulled out of her grasp and backed away. Nausea hit him in waves, but the fact of the matter was, Piccolo soon stood in the center of the room, naked, stepping out of his pants, and he was the one to slide the flimsy dress from Anyana's shoulders so she too stood pale and bare before him.

Gohan gripped his coat, holding it shut.

Anyana kissed along Piccolo's neck, suckling, teasing her fingers along its length. Her other hand rubbed the front of Piccolo's body, dancing along the natural body armor, making the pink flush. She caught Gohan's eyes, smiling directly at him, and with a sly look in her eyes, she dipped her hand between his legs and rubbed the pink expanse till it darkened in color and Piccolo tipped his head back with a sigh.

The pink length of flesh that guarded his muscles and abdomen began to quiver, turning more red than pink. Then Piccolo's eyes met his and Gohan shied back a step, his back pressed to the wall.

"Get on the bed, I'll bring him." Piccolo rumbled.

"Mmm, I like it when you're in charge." She purred, her hips tipping as she walked, her tail lazy and flicking back and forth.Â  She looked back to them, purring, and Gohan noticed she had a thin gold chain around her waist, hanging on her hips precariously. A matching necklace around her neck was linked to the other by another chain traveling the length of her body, and a pale blue glass bead dangled below her navel. It was pretty, he thought, then he dropped his eyes, shame hitting him like a train.

Piccolo approached, all broad shoulders, powerful arms, trim waist, and nude. He didn't appear to have a penis, just a bulge between his legs in the midst of his natural armor. But that didn't stop Gohan from looking, from dragging his eyes across his Don's body, feeling tremors shake him because he knew the moment their eyes met, all those thoughts and feelings would overwhelm him. Show.

And it frightened him.

Mr. Piccolo stopped in front of him, dragging his gaze to his by sheer magnetism. Gohan swallowed hard, licked his lips, and watched his Don's antennae bob.

"Shoes. Off."

"I... I'm sorry, Mr. Piccolo, I'm sorry. I just..." He shook his head, his mouth dry, "I can't - I mean, I don't think I can do this..." yet he still toed his shoes off.

Piccolo frowned down at him, holding him in place, crowding into him because that's all his Don knew how to do - fill a room with his presence till every eye was on him, drinking him in as his audience drowned willingly in his character. Piccolo raised his hand to him, and Gohan ducked his head, cheeks burning. He didn't know if it was from embarrassment or shame this time. He didn't know if it was just fear. He just wanted to curl into Piccolo and hide till he calmed down.

Large fingers cupped his chin, tilting his head up, and met his eyes. Piccolo held him in place. Steadied him. Giving him the moment to breathe that he so desperately needed.

This close, he could smell him, and Piccolo's scent calmed him.

"I'm not going to leave you, Gohan. I'm staying with you." Whispered, his words washed over him, caressing his flesh and tickling his soul. Gohan thought he nodded, but he wasn't certain. So he tried again, his lower lip trembling. Piccolo's red eyes lowered, watching his lips, and as if sealing his promise, Piccolo brushed his thumb across Gohan's lip.

He couldn't breathe.

Piccolo, forever patient and calculated, waited. Gohan knew, he only need to tell him one last time he didn't want this, and his Don would step away, let him flee this room of musk and perfumed lies and not give chase.

But he didn't want to leave him. Didn't want his Don to stop looking at him. So when Piccolo's hand slid along his chest and over his shoulder, pushing his jacket free, it only made his heart pick up the pace and his dick twitch. Gohan's tail uncurled from his waist and thumped the wall. Twisting and curling over itself, the tip twitching. Piccolo took his tie, tugged it apart, and slower than expected, he removed it with a hiss of satin.

Gohan reached for him, jerking his hands back with a sharp breath, suddenly scared to touch him.

His Don's took his shirt, fingering along the buttons. Gohan leaned into him, drawn to the slow gentleness blossoming before him. As if not the head of a Family, Piccolo worked each button open, eyes on his work, and Gohan watching him. The fabric rustled against his fingers, his claws grazing the cotton. He pushed the shirt from his shoulders with hot hands roughened from years of training - and his thumb brushed across his throat. Gohan swallowed hard, panting for breath.

Piccolo paused, tilting his head as he stared at his chest, and Gohan blushed. He wanted to cover himself, wishing he could have grown a few more inches, had worked harder to tone his body so would have the same power that Piccolo's did; he wished he weren't so saiyan...

Piccolo reached out to him, his nails just brushing his chest, then he drew back, his antennae twitching. Gohan shivered.

In a role reversal that stole his breath, Piccolo undressed him, slow and careful, his fingertips brushing his throat ever so faintly. Gohan reached for his Don again, heart hammering, his mouth dry from want. He touched his waist, clinging to him, soaking in one familiar touch in a mire of new scents and sensations. He had seen Piccolo naked before, from having to dress him every morning, but to feel his Don's hands on him, sliding flesh over flesh, pushing away fabric to leave his skin goose fleshed and sensitive, to see his Don's throat, thick and bobbing, so close to him.

Gohan's tail lashed the air.

A thumb brushed over his nipple, and Gohan gasped, sparks of hot pleasure shot down into his belly and further. He snapped his eyes up to Piccolo, and trembled at the brush of antennae over his face that followed the line of his cheek bone and up along his temple.

Piccolo's cheeks dusted dark, a hint of purple beneath his eyes, and it left Gohan unable to move at the touch, at the sight. He held his breath the moment Piccolo took his belt and worked it open, unbuttoning his pants. Fingers grasped his hips, strong and firm. They held him, gave a push, and calloused, warm palms brushed the length of his thighs, claws teasing flesh. Gohan whimpered. A breathy, choked off sound. He stood just as naked as his Don before him, though he felt his flesh twitch between his legs and a blush spread across his cheeks and down his chest. He wanted to hide, to draw close to his Don, to protect him and be protected in return.

Then Piccolo pressed his hand to his back, guiding him to the bed; and he obeyed.

Anyana lay there like a cat draped amongst the cushions and blankets, her eyes hooded, hungry, her tail weaving about, thumping the bed now and then. As they approached, she reached out, trailing first one hand along Piccolo's stomach, teasing over the bulge there, making it flushed and warm, rubbing till Piccolo tilted his head back exposing his flushed throat, and huffing out his breaths. Gohan licked his lips, mapping the length of Piccolo's neck - then he gasped, eyes widening, as Anyana's hand followed the same path along his body, except she wrapped her hand around his penis and pumped.

He panted, squeezed his eyes shut. He breathed deep and wished he hadn't. He smelled Anyana, all her various bedmates, perfume and soap; but also he smelled Piccolo, beside him. He felt his hand on his back. Felt the heat from him. His tail curled and wrapped around Piccolo's wrist.

Anyana shifted, her hand rubbing and sliding along his flesh with just the right squeeze of her fingers or twist of her wrist. It felt good. He couldn't lie. An overwhelming flutter erupted in his belly, with heat building behind a coiling pressure that engulfed him with every up and down slide of her hand around his hardening flesh. He forced his eyes open, saw her kneeling before them both, all curves and soft slopes. She was appealing in some ways, studying her feminine form, noting the color of her nipples - peaked and hard and paler than her arms and face. But as her mouth kissed and lapped at the bulge between Piccolo's legs, Gohan focused on the hard lines and sharp angles of his Don. He shivered.

What had looked to be no more than a ridge of natural armor, abruptly parted. Soft and flexible flesh, within a sheath that housed Piccolo's penis to protect it from the elements, Gohan watched Piccolo's body shift with growing arousal. It was beautiful to watch. He could see it now, with the flushed discolor of his armor, showing aspects that were initially camouflaged. He watched in wonder as his erect penis pushed out, tapered and long, and much thicker at the base.

Anyana hummed and took him into her mouth, bobbing her head and slurping. It was mildly disgusting, the way she dramatized her actions, and a bit of the pleasure he had felt ebbed away. He tried to step back, but she pulled off Piccolo and suddenly he was engulfed in heat and wetness. Her tongue played over him, and Gohan made a sound between a whine and a plead. He found his hand in her hair, holding her against his groin, the other, he clung to Piccolo, leaning into him, and sucking in his scent to keep him grounded.

She moved over him, her lips firm and her tongue playful and soft. She didn't spend as much time on him as she had Piccolo, for soon she pulled off of him, brushing her fingers over his balls in parting. The saiyan woman sat back on her heels, dark eyes hooded and promising. "How do you want to do this, Don Piccolo?"

Piccolo untangled their arms, and Gohan felt his face turn red. His head cleared and he tried to cover himself, but Piccolo motioned Anyana onto her hands and knees and then took Gohan by the elbow, leading him around to the end of the bed. Together, they crawled behind the woman, her tail twisting in the air in invitation.

Piccolo knelt behind Gohan, leaning over him.

"The first thing you need to know, is that a woman needs to be prepared for a man." Piccolo whispered in his ear as he urged him forward a little closer to Anyana's backside. Gohan swallowed hard, shaking, heart beating wild and scared as he saw parts of a woman he had never seen before. Piccolo took his hand, overlaying his fingers atop his, and he guided Gohan's hand through the hair between her legs and dipped into her, touching the pink flesh. She was slick, and a wet heat met his fingers.

"Okay..." Gohan whispered, leaning back toward Piccolo. His Don molded his chest to his back, his free hand resting on his hip and Gohan shook, his tail lashing till he wrapped it around Piccolo's hips and he bit his lip to hold in a moan.

"She is wet, that is good, but you can always do more."

"Yes, please...." Anyana breathed.

Piccolo moved his finger, showing him, and teaching him. Gohan blushed and fumbled, but as Anyana moaned and wiggled when he got it right, it became a source of pride to make her release those noises. They pumped their forefingers into her and she moaned, her tail twisting and curling above her, her fingers digging into the blankets. They massaged her, pampered her with touches, and she showed her approval with a growing wetness between her legs.

"Now." Piccolo whispered and he removed their fingers, urging Gohan to take his erection in hand.

Not as hard as he had been, Gohan bowed his head, blushing, and he felt Piccolo huff against his neck, making shivers rush through him. Piccolo, knelt behind him, still, and Gohan bit his lip, taunt as a bow string. With a slow slide that made him think Piccolo did this with him all the time, his Don once again overlapped his fingers, and guided him to fist his penis, curling Gohan's fingers with a press of his own, leading Gohan's hand up and down, and bring his arousal back to life, just as he would in the secret darkness of his room.

He tried to calm himself with a deep breath, but everything still overwhelmed him - information, touches, smells, and his fear of this woman. He didn't think it was her personality that scared him, it was what her body meant to his. And what it didn't mean.

Piccolo, grunted against his ear, "Good," he breathed, and nudged his hips against his. Gohan whimpered, his body draped by Piccolo's larger one, with thighs touching, powerful arms around him, his breath in his ear. He leaned back against Piccolo, trembling as he soaked in his warmth, feeling Piccolo's heart beat against his shoulders, craving his reassurance, and receiving it with every puff of air against his hair.

Fingers stroked along his tail. Nails carded through his fur.

Gohan's mouth opened and no sound came out as he bowed back into him with a thrust of his hips, his fist moving faster over his erection. Piccolo's grip on his hip tightened, forcing him to still. He watched through heavy eyelids as Piccolo guided his hand, still overlapped, and the namek placed his erection against the woman's wet core. He lost thought, grinding back on him, and he bit his lip. Piccolo's erection lay nestled against his thigh. His Don huffed in his hair, and held him in place even as Gohan's fingers twitched under his tightening grip. With Piccolo's hips flush against his backside, Gohan obeyed Piccolo's nudge as he pushed him forward. Eyes locked on the sight of his erection sinking into flesh, together, they penetrated Anyana.

Then the scrape of nails through the fur of his tail stroked a fire within.

Gohan gasped and bowed his head, hips jerking forward in a quick motion and Anyana cooed and wiggled, grinding herself against him. He writhed and bucked, grabbing her hips in a wild attempt to hold her, feel her, the sensations crushing him. But Piccolo restrained his hips, holding him against himself, and Gohan closed his eyes, his head falling backward onto Piccolo's shoulder and pleasure blossomed to every inch of his body.

A slow rhythm; in and out, gentle and smooth, a small roll of the hips here, a thrust there; Piccolo taught him as he pushed and pulled his body, holding him firm, nails digging into his hips. They moved like they would if they were training, guiding one to teach the other, with strokes of fingers for corrections, and puffs of breath as praise.

Piccolo rubbed against his thigh, fingers tightening on his hip. Gohan whimpered, curving back to feel that stroke again - and his eyes snapped open, mouth dropping and exhaling a choked sound. The tapered head of Piccolo's erection slid against his thigh, twitching against him. Piccolo grunted and Gohan whimpered, pulling his hips away from his in a quick thrust forward only to be met with Piccolo's hips slapping against his.

"Faster." Piccolo whispered in his ear, and Gohan whined. He thrust forward, faster, harder, and Anyana moaned beneath him. Each breath shattered him, he twisted his hips as he felt every inch of pleasure locked between this saiyan woman and Piccolo's body. His body coiled in on itself with every wet grip Anyana gave him. He nuzzled at his Don's neck, panting, mewling in his throat as his tail undulated around his Don's waist. He needed all of him, he decided in the haze of passion. His tongue darted out with small kitten-licks against Piccolo's neck, his taste mixing with his scent and heat.

They both moaned.

He felt Piccolo's antennae brush his cheek, lips panting against his neck...

Piccolo pulled away from him abruptly, and his eyes snapped open as the warmth behind him disappeared. Gohan stopped moving, shaking, head foggy, eyes lost till he settled on Piccolo. He reached for him, his stomach lurching and roiling with his absence - before he remembered himself and jerked his hand back, sobering in an instant as the saiyan woman moaned, loud and lewd, and moved against him.

He gripped her hips between his trembling hands because it was the only thing he could do.

Mr. Piccolo moved around to the head of the bed and knelt before her. She attacked him with a greed that surprised Gohan, till she tried rocked back onto him and a jolt of pleasure distracted him.

It was awkward without Piccolo. He wasn't certain he was doing it right, but instinct also guided him and he moved within her, in and out, driving his heated flesh into her equally so body. He moaned at the slick heat gripping him - but it wasn't the same. He slowed, and his thrusts flagged to a lackluster rocking.

"Gohan, move." Piccolo's hoarse voice wrapped around him.

He bit his lower lip, shaking his head. Piccolo leaned forward, over the woman's back, and Anyana hummed as she swallowed him down. Piccolo's large hand cupped the back of his neck, hot and solid. Gohan's eyelids drooped, he grunted, and stuttering, thrust forward to an instinctual rhythm. He could smell him again, feel him; his wrist so close to his nose, his palm touching his flesh. He thrust, faster and faster, staring at Piccolo, watching as Piccolo's chest heaved with his breaths. Grunts escaped Piccolo, and his free hand slid into Anyana's short hair, guiding her now, showing her how to please him.

Gohan licked his lips.

Piccolo gripped his neck and Gohan thrust hard, pushing the woman into Piccolo, and his Don's eyes closed for a moment, his mouth opening then clenching shut. His Don's grip loosened, and Gohan rocked gently. Grip shifting back and forth, Gohan realized the significance, the heady power it offered. His erection jumped, the pressure in his belly grew tighter as he obeyed the tightened grip and heard Piccolo huff in pleasure.

His movements could please Piccolo.

Gohan drove into the wet heat, giving Piccolo what he wanted, moving faster or slower, hard or gentle, all depending on the way Piccolo's fingers squeezed his neck.

Pleasure grew in his belly, every second, every thrust doubling it, tripling it, sending Gohan's body into a tailspin of sensations. Piccolo's hand slipped, sliding to his cheek, his thumb brushing over his eye and down his nose. Gohan whined and grabbed at his wrist, desperate to keep his touches, to feel him. He leaned into his palm, gasping, scenting him, nuzzling his wrist, hot breathes puffing against the green wrist. Piccolo groaned, snapped his own hips forward as Gohan did, and Anyana moaned between them.

Piccolo's thumb brushed his lips, eyes hooded, irises blown and trimmed in red. Gohan parted his lips, gasping for breath the faster he moved. His Don rubbed his thumb over his lips, contorting them as he did, and his nail caught the bottom, pulled it down, and stopped before he caused injury. Then Piccolo stroked his lip. His antennae twitched and bobbed as he leaned toward him, intense, focused. Gohan leaned forward, drawing closer as if under a trance, not wanting another piece of Piccolo to leave him, and he took his thumb into his mouth and nipped the pad.

A groan left Piccolo, one that rose from his chest and wrapped around Gohan, seizing him by the balls and stoking his pleasure. Gohan curled into Anyana, his mouth parting as he let a noise escape that sounded wild. His hips thrust hard and staggered, his tail twisting behind him. That pressure in his belly grew, swelling till it burst deep inside him and he cried out, releasing an eruption of liquid heat that roiled through his body in a scalding mess, "Mr. Piccolo!" it left stars cascading behind his eyes, his hips bucking in staccato that curled his toes and turned his voice hoarse the louder he moaned.

He bit Piccolo's thumb.

Piccolo groaned and threw his head back, rocking his hips, rolling back and then forward, his chest heaving and throat exposed.

Gohan shuddered, moaning as another rush of pleasure crashed over him, not as powerful as the first, but enough to make him wiggle and thrust into Anyana several more times before he collapsed to the side.

She moaned, her free hand pumping Piccolo till she seemed pleased by what she saw and pulled away. She eyed him, his mind a fuzz as his body floated where he lay. She loomed over him, gazing down at him with a lick of her lips. Then she bent down and kissed him.

Gohan closed his eyes, lacking the strength to pull away - but then her taste came to him, musky and masculine. She tasted like Piccolo. He licked his lips.

She nipped his lip playfully and with a roll of her body, she slid out of bed and stalked away like a cat, a smirk on her face. But it was Piccolo he truly saw, flushed and sweaty, red eyes staring at him and only him. He curled his fingers in the bedding, kept his hands from reaching out to him. Stopping himself from tracing high cheekbones. Gripping the blanket tight to keep himself from caressing his brow. Or tasting his skin - for himself. He closed his eyes, shivered, and remembered the look on his Don's face as they moved as one, holding to that as he drifted on a dream.

 

***!***

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Nail stood beside his Don's door, eyes locked straight ahead, arms folded over his chest, and his jaw clenched tight. He heard them, the gasps, the moans, the subtle sound of flesh upon flesh. He heard them, seeing them in his mind as they pleased themselves with the saiyan woman between them.

His stomach rolled as the boy whimpered, 'Mr. Piccolo' slipping from his lips. Nail closed his eyes, his mouth dry. What hurt the most, was being so close, and knowing if that woman wasn't in there, it wouldn't change a thing.

It would still be Gohan in there. Not him.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Gohan awoke to Piccolo shaking his shoulder. He rubbed at his eyes, yawned, and sat up slowly, his thighs shaky, but in the good way that only a hard workout could.

"Gohan, get dressed."

He nodded and moved to throw his legs over the side of the bed, when he finally noticed the _size_ of the bed. The _scents_. He blushed, memory returning, and Gohan stared up at Piccolo, seeing his throat, spying his chest as he still had to finish dressing. Anyana was gone, the room brighter than before. He crawled to the edge of the bed and stood, his knees trembled. His limbs loose, body refreshed and exhausted at the same time - and yet, Gohan's mind remained confused.

He dressed, the action taking longer than he thought it should. He slipped his shoes on and straightened his tie, when he noticed the half-hearted appearance of Mr. Piccolo. He set his jacket aside and stood before his Don, and reached up, buttoning the last of his shirt, and fixing his tie. He straightened his collar with as much care as possible, careful to not touch his skin. He flushed hot, licked his lips, and smoothed the red tie down his chest, buttoned his vest and helped him into his jacket - making certain the cufflinks were both accounted for before he pinned his Don's tie in place.

Piccolo studied him all the while, hands fisted at his sides. Gohan's head felt fuzzy, scared to meet his eyes, his skin crawling the longer he stood there in Anaya's bedroom. He felt his Don shift, saw below his lashes Piccolo's lips part, a word forming. He looked up at him then, butterflies in his stomach. What he had felt in that room with Anyana, all the pleasure paled in comparison to having Mr. Piccolo huff in his ear.

Gohan stood still, swallowing hard. What happened exactly? It had been so straightforward before all this. Now, it seemed the world had shifted and it lay angled around him, a field of debris that was now his life. He lay in chaos now having once thought he understood everything.

He draped his jacket over his arm and shuffled from the room, glancing to Nail who looked away, eyes down.

Money exchanged hands, something about the extra time, and then Gohan followed his Don out of the brothel and down the street.

Nail opened the door for Mr. Piccolo before he could. Gohan shift from foot to foot, tail wrapping around his waist. To keep himself moving, to focus on something else, he reached for the driver's door, but calloused fingers took his wrist and stayed his hand.

Nail shook his head, eyes still not meeting his. "Ride in the back. I'll drive." He said and took the keys.

It was probably for the best, Gohan decided, for his body felt languid and his head foggy. He shuffled around the car and slid into the back seat, jacket draped over his knees. He wasn't sure he could focus on driving, his muscles were so stiff. Though it certainly didn't help sitting beside Piccolo, a seat of space between them, and yet it might as well have been a chasm.

Something lay broken between them; and it scared him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me. It was the only way I could see their relationship moving forward - because unless they were black out drunk - Gohan would pine away forever, and forever be the respectful and dutiful companion he always has been. And Piccolo just won't allow himself to have nice things. Like Gohan. In his sheets. In his life. Period. Piccolo has far too much self-restraint (both in canon and in regards to being a Don) to give into his desires. 
> 
> They would have danced around each other till the end of time...and on some level they would have been happy with that. But we're looking for satisfaction. So in order for them to admit to themselves, let alone each other, they want more from the other, the pair needed to come face to face with what COULD be... and wish it had gone differently. 
> 
> Admitting love to yourself is hard enough. To say something to A person you love, but now realize you LOVE... its terrifying. No matter who you are. 
> 
> So... Anyana was a buffer, a catalyst. By being the safe 'In-between' (pun totally intended) she gave them an excuse to show every ounce of lust that has been building up without the repercussions of being rejected and damaging their current relationship. 
> 
> I'm not that nice though.


	16. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward aftermath, the fallout of events left unspoken, and promises that belie the truth. Poor Nail.

~~~~~15~~~~~

~~~~~2 Weeks Later~~~~~

 

Piccolo frowned as the young man flushed and shied away from him, head bowed. He delivered his tea and butter cookies, then bowed and left his office without lingering to the side as was tradition; and all without looking at him.

Dragging a hand down his face, Piccolo rubbed his eyes and turned, pouring himself a cup of tea. He sipped it, the robust flavor rolling over his tongue with a bite of cinnamon and honey. He eyed the butter cookies, staring at the familiar feature on his morning plate. The pale yellow confections layered atop one another in such a lovely fanned out display, that it seemed ridiculous not to pick one up and eat it. Anger spilled over his careful control and he flung the butter cookies across the room, the plate shattering against the mantle.

For the last two weeks they had danced around each other, and it only grew worse. What had he been thinking? He should have left the woman to it or accepted that Gohan didn't want his gift.

But that wasn't the real problem. It had been the way he had watched Gohan, lusted after his vocal reactions to his experiences. Piccolo Daimao Jr. had wanted to hear his bodyguard cry his name.

And he had gotten exactly that.

Piccolo rubbed his hand down his face. He needed to fix this. But how?

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

As Don of the Saiyan Family, Vegeta had learned long ago that there were things he couldn't do. He could sleep with whomever he chose, but he could not marry unless she be saiyan. He could sire as many bastard welps as he wanted, but his heir would need be pure blooded. If he were to keep a mistress, she would be kept outside the Family holdings and out of his marriage bed.

He didn't get to see his little bastard too often, having not taken that much interest in him the first few years of his life, but as the child grew, he couldn't deny the boy was his. He looked more human than saiyan, and in possession of a quiet calm that made him seem passive, but his soul was all saiyan fighting spirit his race prided themselves on. The day his welp had come to him a bit nervous and with a fragile hope in his eyes asking him if he would teach him to fight like he did, Vegeta had felt an unexpected rush of pride. He felt his chest swell, even puff out a bit as he regarded the child who was only six at the time. He had smirked down at him, informed him it would be hard work, and he wouldn't go easy on him.

Trunks hit back, his little fists punching into the pads Vegeta held. He was strong, eight years old now and with two years of training under his belt. Vegeta grinned, imagining the possibility of having his son join the Family as an outside Enforcer perhaps. He would never be accepted, but he could be respected for his confidence and spirit.

"Good. Triple punch."

Trunks shouted, pumping himself up as his lanky body began to tire. Each fist hit its mark three times in a row, and then dipped his whole body down and led with his fist back up. He hit the spot a seventh time with an uppercut, and a grin.

Vegeta grunted, but that swell of pride hit again and he nodded, stepping back to allow the kid a break.

Trunks panted, sweat soaking his clothing and making his hair stick to his forehead and neck. He grinned, a large smile with a missing front tooth that had fallen out a week before. "Did I do good?"

Trunks reached for him and hung off his wrist. His smile never falling even with the scowl he aimed his way. "You did acceptable. You still have a lot to learn, but you are progressing faster than I expected."

The kid's grin spread to his eyes and he could have lit up a room.

"The real test will be if something were to happen to you or your mother. If someone attempts to hurt either of you, it will be your job to protect her."

"I'll punch them in the kisser if they try anything!" Trunks declared, throwing a punch in the air.

Vegeta smirked and placed a hand atop his head. "That'a boy."

"Can we see if mom is done with dinner? My tummy is getting all rumbley."

"Yes." The sound of food also appealed to his gut. He turned to lead the way, but movement at the corner of the house stopped him short. The mass moved a second time, and Vegeta put himself between his son and the stranger before they stepped forward and Nappa rounded the corner and into the sunlight.

Vegeta scowled at him, and waved his hand, both beckoning him and pissed off at the man.

"Dad?"

"Run inside and wash up." He ordered, his tone hardening. Trunks frowned up at him, but the moment he saw the other man, he nodded and scampered inside, glancing over his shoulder just once before he closed the door.

And locked it.

Good boy.

There were very few of his men he allowed to know of this secondary home of his. He preferred having his son and the woman out of the eyes of The Family, even if he was helping to support them with Family money. Not that he needed to contribute much, the woman was doing just fine on her own.

He tossed the training pads on the stairs and folded his arms over his chest. "There had better be a good reason you are interrupting me."

Nappa joined him, all mass and breadth that blocked out the sun. The saiyan clenched his fist and placed it over his heart in respect before he nodded to him. "Sir, I have news. We finally have solid information on the saiyan child Don Piccolo took-"

"Good."

"The report will be waiting for you in your office. Fasha explained its not much, but it might help us find an opportunity to ambush him."

"Excellent."

"It all hinges on if he creates a routine or begins to schedule appointments."

"Fine."

Nappa paused, a frown taking up room. "But, I do have some bad news."

Vegeta folded his arms.

"-Sir, a dock worker found Aspugusa's body tied to the warf's pillars. He drowned when the tide came in last night."

Vegeta ground his teeth. "Any leads?"

Nappa's square jaw tightened as he shook his head. "No. Just whispers from the rats that there is a cat on the prowl."

He cursed under his breath, pacing as he thought. He secured his tail around his waist, allowing the familiar action of control to focus his spinning questions. "Fine. Gather some of the rats that are known to frequent the dock area. Question them. Politely. If we find out anything, reward them. Nothing, remind them why they keep their eyes open for us."

"Understood."

Vegeta dismissed him with a flick of his hand. He retrieved the training pads and knocked on the door. Trunks was there in an instant, still sweaty and grubby, having probably watched him through the window.

"I told you to wash up."

"Sorry, dad."

"Go. It smells like your mother is almost done."

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

~~~~~4 Days Later~~~~~

 

Nail stepped into Piccolo's office, arm laden with paperwork, a question poised on the tip of his tongue, and stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the room. Piccolo's eyes met his, and he dropped his hand from where it was hovering over Gohan's shoulder. Gohan for his part latched onto his arrival and clearly used it as an excuse to hurry from the room with a small bow and a mumbled apology, his cheeks pink and tail wrapped around his leg.

Nail raised a brow at the boy, and regarded Piccolo with the same exasperation.

His Don grunted and dropped down into his chair. He turned back to his paperwork and shuffled through a folder while a tic flickered above his brow.

"I know you don't want to talk about it-"

"You're right, I don't." Piccolo cut him off.

Nail could see the business contract he was pretending to read - a legal and lawful contract at that - that they held with a local grocer to supply him with the crops the Family grew in the compound. Piccolo raised his pen to sign his name, and Nail rolled his eyes. He marched the rest of the way into the room and took the contract before any damage could be done.

Piccolo glared, red eyes flashing - but it was all bravado. Nail glared right back, dropped his files onto his Don's desk, and planted his hands on the smooth surface as he leaned in over his Don, daring to call his bluff. "Sir, I respectfully ask you to tell me what to do about this situation, because if you let it fester any longer we will be the ones paying businesses to protect them. What do you want me to do about the boy?"

They stared one another down, daring the other to back off, but Nail had the one thing Piccolo still lacked - an immeasurable well of patience. It took nineteen minutes and forty-three seconds of absolute silence before his Don cracked and snarled, turning his face away.

"I don't know."

"Do you wish me to talk with him?"

Piccolo shifted, his antennae twitching, and Nail waited a moment more, because he could read it on the namek, as if Piccolo were screaming his desperation for his help. Piccolo finally did nod, and Nail inclined his head.

"I will do so now." If he had to go through one more dinner of utter silence between the two while Gohan pushed the expired remains of his fowl or mammalian food about his plate, Nail knew he would go mad.

"Nail..." Piccolo tapped his fingers on his desk. Nail straightened, giving him space to think, and work through his emotions. When his Don looked back to him, Nail dug his nails into the palms of his hands to stop himself from licking his lips. Obscene. He was better than that.

It took another ten minutes for Piccolo to release a resigned breath to allow the words to tumble free. "Never mind. Do what you need to do. I'm responsible for this mess. Allow Gohan to do what he needs for him to be comfortable once more."

It wasn't often that Nail stumbled over Don Piccolo's orders, but Nail sifted through his request and the unexpectedness of the implied authority he was giving him shocked him. "Sir..."

Piccolo bowed his head, shoulders squared.

Taking a slow breath in and releasing it on the count of three, Nail regarded the namek and saw yet another piece of him that he otherwise wouldn't have witnessed without the saiyan boy's presence. "Sir, I will never allow him to leave the compound."

"You will if that is what he asks."

"No, Sir, I won't."

Piccolo rose from his chair, looming before him as though he were a god made of shadows with embers for eyes. Piccolo flashed his fangs, placed his palms atop his paperwork and inched closer to him like Death himself. Nail lifted his chin and stood his ground, meeting his Don's glower.

" _What_?"

"The boy knows too much and is too important to simply let loose. Not to mention, the boy would have no idea how to survive on his own. He is smart and would adapt easily enough, but I also know that he would be lost out there with no one." Nail didn't flinch when Piccolo hissed, but he did lean closer, eye to eye. "And with all due respect, _Sir_ ," he bit the word out, "you would be just as lost without him. For a saiyan brat, he is loyal, capable, and you would be positively unbearable if you were without him. He knows too much about the Family, about you, and he knows all of our business arrangements, and he knows many of our contacts. I would never allow the boy to leave through those gates a free man and allow him to see the next sunrise."

Piccolo's eyes flashed.

"I was simply stating a fact, Sir. Seeing as how I do not want the Family compromised, I will do everything within my power to help the boy. If it comes to me sitting the pair of you down, I will do so without any hesitation to point out how ridiculous this whole situation is." He inhaled, sharp, and released it slowly with his eyes locked on his Don. "But, I will also do as you have asked, and I will do what I can for the boy."

It was stupid to confront the Don of a Family. Nail knew the consequences, he understood Piccolo could have him killed simply for his insolence. But Piccolo needed to know, and Nail would never compromise the Family, even if it meant being the bastard who killed the brat they had both come to care for.

Piccolo sank back down into his chair, rubbing his temple.

Nail rounded the desk and poured the namek a glass of tea, flavoring it with a bit of lemon and honey. He wasn't certain Piccolo was ingesting enough nutrients to keep his strength up. He'd speak to Launch about cooking him some artichoke and spinach soup for dinner, just to be safe. Nail needed to not be so distracted by Gohan's blushing silence and Piccolo's impressions of a constipated statue of guilt. He needed to focus on the health of his household.

He offered the cup to his Don, not moving when Piccolo waved it away. When a minute had lapsed, Piccolo growled but took the cup and drank the contents down in three gulps.

Nail refilled it, and set the tea at the top of his desk within easy reach. He gave his Don the quiet he desired, giving him his time to meditate over his words so he could chart out his actions. He remembered the days before Piccolo had taken charge; how his father, Piccolo Daimao, had schemed and sent Enforcers out half-cocked. But Piccolo - he _thought_. He _considered_. He weighed the _consequences_. Within the few years he had been in control of the Family, he changed their way of life, their businesses, and their standing within the community. So much of their operations had come out of the darkness and were now legal. Others still remained buried due to current laws; but it was real now, the Namekian race had hope.

It was what he respected his Don for the most.

It was why he had fallen for Piccolo.

He bowed his head, turning to leave, but stopped as a large hand took his wrist. Nail's heart fluttered, and he schooled his features before he turned back. Piccolo wasn't looking at him. He tightened his grip and bent forward in his chair, his antennae twitching toward him then back down, as if trying to search out the situation between them.

Nail focused on loyalty. He needed to remain calm, to remain prepared to give his service to his Don. With a shaky growl, Piccolo raised his gaze and they locked. Piccolo's red eyes blazed, and Nail's heart caught it. His Don seemed to sear deep into his body as he held him in place with that single look. Nail swallowed. He couldn't tell if his Don was angry at him, or preparing to _seed_ him.

Which was preposterous. His antennae drooped.

"Do not think so little of yourself, Nail."

Frozen in place, Nail could only stare at him.

Piccolo stood abruptly and stepped into him, pushing into Nail's space and forcing his numb legs to move. Piccolo stood level with him now, having overtaken him some months ago with a final growth spurt. It felt odd to be looking up at him, though equal now, without ever having been lesser. Piccolo's hold on his wrist tightened, and Nail's lower lip fell.

If Piccolo noticed, he didn't seem to linger on the suggestive gesture.

Piccolo pressed their brows together and Nail bit his cheek as their antennae touched. It took a moment, his own antennae twitching, curling around Piccolo's before the link eased open. A feeling of sincerity overwhelmed him, rushing into him as if desperate for Nail to understand something... and it only left his skin shivering and his teeth clamped shut so he didn't lick his lips.

"You are my right hand, Nail. Don't lie to me about not knowing your worth. Gohan knows it, as do I. I'd be lost without you."

He stepped away then and Nail nodded, his hand dropping to his side.

Nail left when Piccolo took his seat again, sipping his fresh cup of tea. He closed the door and wandered the house for some time, passing the kitchen where Launch was humming, sounding sweet and gentle, with a soft smile on her face as she baked what looked like a meat pie for Gohan's dinner.

He paused in the dim hallway beside the stairs, head tipped back and eyes closed. Nail paused, knowing he should focus on figuring out a plan to help the boy; but his mind wouldn't allow him. Heart pounding against his ribs, his stomach clenching with a tremor in his chest. He pressed his hand to his midsection, feeling the warmth there from the blush that colored his neck and downward.

All because his wrist tingled.

Inhaling slow and deep, Nail gave himself one full minute to linger on something trivial, before he nodded. He straightened his _kava_ and vest, moved up the stairs, and prepared himself to fix Don Piccolo's relationship with the young saiyan man; thus destroying his own personal hopes.

Because everything he did was for Piccolo, and Piccolo gave hope to their Family.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

The knock to Gohan's door was nothing more than a cheap courtesy. Gohan looked up from his book - having not read a single word in the last hour- and scooted to the edge of his bed.

Nail stood there, _kava_ crisp, long vest neat and pressed, with a hand on the doorknob, and shoulders back.

He didn't know why, but seeing him there, standing in his room with the same soft look he had worn years ago when nightmares still ravaged him, Gohan felt something crack inside him. He bit his lip, head bowed, and the book slipped to the floor, clattering between his feet.

He didn't want to cry in front of him - though he supposed he wanted to do just that because everything felt like too much, like whatever roiling feelings were contained in him clawed at his flesh to get out. The feeling tore him up, wailing and lashing against his bonds. He was just so angry all of a sudden that he wished he could scream, rend flesh, punch till his arms dropped dead, and rip with teeth.

Mr. Piccolo had changed everything and it wasn't fair.

He bit his tongue, pinched his arm, dug his nails into his palms, but the tears did gather even as he refused to let them fall. Nail's hands settled on his shoulders, and the droplets stained the carpet.

"I will not humor you and tell you I know what you are feeling. But I volunteered to be here to ease the internal conflict you battle. What can I do?"

Gohan's chest tightened and his throat closed up. He reached for him, hands shaking, and he hugged the man close, hiding his face against his chest. Nail's large hands hesitated, then his strong arms wrapped around him, hiding him from the world, engulfing him in the namek's scent. Gohan's breaths stuttered in his chest. He soaked in the gentle rubs to his shoulders, turning his head pressing his nose to Nail's heart. The namek ran his fingers through his hair, the same way he had done once upon a time to chase his nightmares away.

"Come with me. I need to make a stop by the bank." Nail eased away from him, and Gohan nodded, sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Nail left him alone, and Gohan dressed for the outing. When he closed the door to his room, finished, Nail waited at the bottom of the stairs, his coat and hat on and offering Gohan his own.

The drive brought only the occasional gasps of air that Gohan dragged in, otherwise, the motor rattling in the hood truly was the only noise that passed between them. Nail left him in the car, the setting sun hot on the side of Gohan's face, and he watched the namek step into the bank, leaving him with silence for his companion. His emotions raged inside him to the point he felt like he was being ripped apart in a storm.

He grew tired of thinking of his eighteenth birthday. He grew tired of reliving every detail. But it came to the forefront, and he knew Nail was right. Leaning back against the hard seat, Gohan rubbed his face, so tired after weeks of restless sleep. The ghostly hand of Piccolo's touch along his hip, warm and large. He touched his flank, not sure if he was disappointed when he didn't feel Piccolo's hand there, or relieved.

There lay his true dilemma.

Nail returned twenty minutes later, tucking an envelope into the chest pocket of his coat, and he climbed into the car, though he didn't start it right away. They sat in silence as the world moved around them. Gohan stared at his knees, eyes grainy. He didn't know how to fix this. He supposed that was the worst of it. He wanted everything to go back to normal. He wanted to know where he stood with himself; and with Mr. Piccolo. He didn't know how to fix it between them, but maybe...

An idea tickled his thoughts. An idea that both repulsed, and lay colored in silver lighting.

"I want to..." Gohan swallowed, blushing hot with Nail's eyes on him. Nail turned the car over, letting the engine rattle their bones, giving the illusion that the engine was offering them privacy from the pedestrians on the street. Gohan breathed deep, cheeks red, and he nodded, "I want to go back to Madam Florentine's."

Nail considered that for some time and Gohan fidgeted.

"Will that give you answers, or will it only leave you with more questions?"

Gohan shrugged, looking at his knees. "I don't know."

"I want you to know, I do not think this a wise decision."

"Noted."

"Sometimes, lying to ourselves seems the only option, but all it will do is leave you cold and empty."

Gohan nodded, swallowing hard. "It's either there or... or put me in a fight."

"Is this what you need?" Nail's voice faded into a whisper.

He nodded again, looking to Nail and gripping his knees. "Yes."

Nail drove. The car rocked along the road. Gohan's tail wrapped tight around his leg, a warm weight against his thigh. Nail parked a block from Madam Florintine's, and they walked side by side, hands in pockets, and heads bowed. They kicked up dust and knocked pebbles aside with their toes on their way to the front of the building.

Gohan felt sick, swallowing back bile as they paused outside the tall, stately building. Their steps hesitant, palms damp, sweat on his brow. He replayed Nail's words through his mind, asked himself against for the hundredth time if this was necessary, if this would bring him peace.

He still didn't know.

Nail never moved from his side, waiting, hands folded in front of him waiting with just as much respect as he would if Gohan were Don. Gohan exhaled, playing over his options again - going back to the tension and uncertainty, or venturing inside and receiving answers Piccolo left him with.

He nodded and entered, and Nail followed.

The perfume overwhelmed him at first, but he welcomed it immediately because the scent covered up all the others. They walked along the dim hallway, his gut jumped, and other bought of second thoughts slowed his steps.

"Its not too late to go back."

Gohan stopped, swallowing hard when Nail placed a hand on his shoulder. The intimacy of the hallway made it easy for him to count his pounding heartbeats, and the way the velvet absorbed the sounds beyond, it gave him a moment of silence. But there was only one solution he could see. He shook his head.

They stepped into the openness of the main room with girls curled upon the cushions of the rounded sofa.

He swallowed hard, not seeing Anyana. His plan falling apart.

As though fate smiled down, the door of the four star room opened and a gentleman hurried out, his hat tipped to hide his face, and he dashed past them, escaping through the velvet curtains. He didn't smell as musty as the man from weeks ago, but he still smelled of Anyana and arousal.

A moment later Anyana stepped out, a small smile on her face, a languid arch of her back as she reached above her in a stretch. She smelled like soap.

The saiyan woman spied him, and her eyes glittered immediately like a hunter's. She prowled to his side leaned into him, her fingers twisting around his tie. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

Gohan blushed and he knew his face must look like a tomato's.

"Gohan, are you sure?" Nail whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He stared at Anyana, shivering, then he nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"This way then, little warrior." She purred in his ear and turned, leading him by his tie to the bedroom. Gohan glanced over his shoulder, locked eyes with Nail, and for the first time in his memory, Nail looked disappointed. His tail slid between his legs, his stomach roiled, and Anyana shut the door with a click, cutting off his view. Gohan forgot how to breath.

"What do you want tonight?" She husked out, and wrapped her arms about his neck, arching in a feline-way as she rubbed herself against him.

He grabbed her hips, pushing her back, throat bobbing. When she eased her hold on him, her brows pinching together, Gohan released the breath he held and willed himself to think of this as a negotiations meeting.

"I... I have some questions."

Anyana eyed him, skeptical and even a little paranoid.

Gohan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "How.... Do you know..." He looked away, his emotions swelling over him like an ocean's wave. He couldn't breathe, his voice choking in on himself, his mind a jumble of questions he couldn't order properly to analyze.

"Sit down, little warrior." She waved him toward her bed. He did as ordered, sitting on the edge, gripping his knees.

She forced his hands up when she slid onto his lap, all lithe limbs and heat. She draped her arms around his neck, head cocked and dark eyes calculating. "Now then, what can I teach you?"

He didn't know where to put his hands.

Anyana pressed her hand to his cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. Her eyes were the blackest of onyx shining back at him. He didn't know how she could do this job and not have lost that spark inside. But then again, he was here, wasn't he? She knew things, she could do things, and he had come to her instead of another. Even Nail. It probably made her feel powerful.

Her lips curled the longer his silence lasted as they simply sat there together, his trembling hands shaking against her waist. She shifted forward and purred in his ear, her fingertips teasing his jaw. "I knew it," and she giggled, a girlish sound that shook her whole body on his lap, and made his throat tighten in shame. She raked her fingers through his hair, possessive and sly. "Oh, honey, I'll teach you everything."

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Piccolo wasn't helping the situation any. He knew that; but scenting Gohan's arousal, and smelling _her_ all over him the moment he and Nail returned from their outing; his chest had tightened and an unexplainable hurt overwhelmed him. He had never thought himself a hypocritical man, but he stood there, glaring at Gohan and all he could feel was a sense of betrayal.

"You'll pay Nail back."

Piccolo couldn't remember the last time he voiced an opinion before his thoughts had time to chart a path.

"You will work off the debt you owe him, and you will not be borrowing money from him concerning these sorts of matters." He growled, cutting him off with a swipe of his hand.

Gohan blinked, his mouth parted and gaping at him.

Nail stepped forward, his hands raised in the universal sign for peace, and his soft, even voice did little to calm him. "Sir, I was only trying to help. The boy doesn't owe me anything."

Piccolo shook his head, fists at his sides. He had asked Nail to help him, not take him back to the source of their trouble to begin with. Nail should have known better than this. "He will. If he expects us to foot the bill for a new addiction, he is sadly mistaken. He is a man now," he spat the words like they tasted of polluted water. "He is old enough to pay for his own pleasures."

Gohan's face looked red as he bowed his head. Piccolo could see his hands shaking at his sides, and his tail lashing the air.

"You should have known bet-"

"Leave him alone." Gohan snapped, stepping in front of Nail, with narrowed eyes and his jaw squared. He looked as if he might hit him.

Piccolo almost wished he would.

"I was the one who asked him to take me."

"Gohan, you don't need to-"

"It was foolish to go." Piccolo stepped forward, looming over him, and feeling like a black storm cloud rolling across the land lay inside him. The storm clouding his thoughts, his emotions, and stealing away from him the collected calm he had worked so hard to gain over the years. He wasn't a hothead anymore, he wasn't eager to wrap his garrote around anyone's neck without thinking through his options. But right now, glaring back at the young man he had come to rely upon in every aspect of his life - Piccolo wanted him, just as much as punch him.

"Why was it foolish for me, when you go all the time?" Gohan's voice rose, hitting him in the gut.

"Its dangerous. You don't realize how vulnerable an establishment like that makes you."

Gohan scoffed, shaking his head, "No more than last time."

"There were precautions in place that you were not aware of." Piccolo folded his arms over his chest, looking down his nose. "You placed not only your life at risk, but Nail's as well. There are procedures for a reason, and Madam Florentine prefers to have arranged visits when the Families are involved."

"If you didn't want me going back, then you shouldn't have taken me there to begin with!"

And Piccolo sucked in a breathe, staring into glassy dark eyes that threatened tears, but nothing fell because for the first time in all their years together, he saw Gohan's saiyan anger burning within, scorching away any possible tears. The resentment set him on his heels, made his body go cold and his antennae to twitch because he couldn't let them droop, couldn't let either man in the room see his own distress and weakness.

Shaking his head, Piccolo snorted and bit out words that he knew would hurt because he felt them himself. "You're a child, pretending to know what you want when really, you're stumbling in the dark with no clear path before you."

Gohan hissed, his throat bobbing, and tail puffed up. "Whose fault is that?"

"Don't go back again."

"I'm old enough now, remember? And I can pay my own way while I'm at it." His voice was a croak, a straining sound that sliced him raw. Gohan looked hardened, dangerous. Like a cornered animal ready to claw his way free.

Piccolo stared at the young man, and hated himself for putting that look on his face.

Gohan turned his back on him, tail jerking in the same way a large cat's might when defensive, and faced Nail. "You said you could get me a fight. I want one. Tonight."

Nail's mouth opened, brows rising, and Piccolo watched the namek struggle for words till he settled on a decision, his face smooth and eyes sad. "Its not pleasant, Gohan."

"You said you would get me a fight if I asked. I want one." His voice broke around a growl, his shoulders so stiff Piccolo wasn't certain he had ever seen his Enforcer this wound up before.

Nail studied the young man, but lifted his gaze to meet Piccolo's, resigned and not liking it one bit crossing his features. It was quick, a blink of his eyes, a thinning of his lips. Piccolo's lip curled away from his fangs, but Nail nodded, a squaring of his shoulders. He settled a hand on Gohan's shoulder, sighing heavily. "All right. Get your coat."

Shaking his head, Piccolo returned Gohan's gaze as he puffed his chest out and marched for the front door. It was like he won something, and yet, they both knew he hadn't.

Piccolo turned and walked away. Even Don's had to admit defeat, but they had to do so while remaining in control. Shoulders back and head high, Piccolo dug his claws into his palms, a sharp pain that washed over him. Warm blood welled around his fingers, his heart pounding.

He slammed the door to his office closed. He paced, then stalked, moving through his office, unfocused and vibrating with energy. Refraining from kicking the furniture or throwing items across the room, Piccolo tried to breathe slow and deep, breathing, working through his emotions - wishing Gohan were there to calm him.

Leaning over his desk, and gulping down air, Piccolo bowed his head, hands shaking as he kept his nails from digging into the wood of his father's desk.

Blood pooling around his palms.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

A train barreled past in a deafening scream, whipping the dirt around them into a cloud that stung his eyes. A punch landed, and Gohan fell back, spitting blood from his mouth.

"That's what we do to _egg-crackers_ who show their faces!" His opponent, a wiry saiyan man, bellowed to the jeering crowd. The men and women around them screamed, fists waving, eyes black with blood-lust and hate. A kick to his ribs followed.

Gohan curled into the motion. Despite having been taught how to take a blow like that, it still hurt. But he found himself flashing his teeth, the fur along his tail standing on end, and he roared, flipping back to his feet in a move that had even the saiyan stepping back in surprise. Squinting past the tears, Gohan grabbed the man's foot as he tried for another kick, and he stepped into him, forcing him to lose his sense of balance and he tripped, falling onto his back. Gohan moved to leap atop him, but a well placed kick to the stomach sent him flying back and knocked the wind out of him.

Gohan struggled to his feet, his lungs gagging on nothing. But Mr. Piccolo had forced him to learn, to work through the pain, to look past his own discomfort so that he would come out the victor and his opponent lay at his feet. He wouldn't go down just because he couldn't breathe.

The saiyan shifted from foot to foot. The sway reminded him of the way a dog might dance about, uncertain if the person in front of them was going to hurt them or give them room to run.

He didn't give him room to run.

Gohan charged, his lungs sucking in air and he jumped, spinning in a move a boxer would never anticipate. Its what gave him an advantage over saiyans, the namekian style moved and flowed and struck hard no matter what limb was available. The saiyans were powerful, their punches capable of downing a man in one solid hit, but the nameks, they moved with the punches, and stole their opponent's power.

His heel connected with the saiyan's temple, and he staggered away, into the crowd, and he reached out for someone to catch him.

Instead, he slapped an enormous man on the shoulder and slipped out of sight. The bald saiyan stepped forward, grinning as he threw his coat and shirt off, stretching out his arms, rolling his shoulders. Gohan vaguely recognized the man from his many negotiation meetings with Mr. Piccolo; he just couldn't think of the man's name.

"Little _egg-cracker_ has some fancy moves taught to him by those filthy _hatchers._ " The saiyan's voice rumbled, deep and rock breaking. Dogs barked and snarled in the background.

"This wasn't part of the deal..." Gohan said, glancing back to Nail, and he saw the namek arguing with the man in charge. The ref laughed as if their protests were adorable.

Gohan looked back and had no time to dodge or roll away from the attack, and his wind knocked right back out of him as the large saiyan punched him in the gut. Gohan felt his feet leave the ground for a split second before he fell backward.

He couldn't focus this time, couldn't look to the threat approaching him because his lungs screamed, and felt his body numbing itself to the assault.

The large man fell atop him, grabbing up a fistful of his shirt at his throat, pulling him up toward him just to hit him, splitting his lip, and no doubt, causing his face to bloom in red and purples. Again and again, the saiyan laughed, grunting with each punch that felt like a boulder laying waste to his face.

He bowed under him, bringing a foot up and over, hooking his leg over the man's neck and he arched his back, gagging as air filled him once more and he coughed, but the spasm gave him the needed steel in his limbs to drag the larger man off top of him and into the dirt.

"Brat!"

Gohan coughed and sucked in deep breaths. He wiped his mouth, and blinked rapidly to clear his vision. He took a stance, hands up, feet wide and body balanced, and vision fuzzy around the edges.

He could do this; Mr. Piccolo had trained him.

The mountain moved and Gohan moved with it, jumping backward, bobbing and weaving, and he threw a series of quick punches and jabs at the saiyan's ribs.

The man grunted, batting his hands away, and then he back handed him.

Gohan's vision darkened, spotted with blurry white.

The man approached and Gohan kicked, his aim off, and another punch whipped him around, spinning him, till he fell, his cheek resting there in the dirt, ears ringing.

The ref began counting. He couldn't exactly hear him, but he saw his lips moving. He wanted to get up, to prove he could win, but he ached everywhere and he didn't know why eggs were so despised by saiyans.

Nail appeared then, his sure hands taking him under the arms and hauling him to his feet. Gohan swayed, trying to blink his eyes open, but finding one of them swollen shut.

"Let us get you home." Nail whispered.

Gohan looked around, saw another ring of people a little ways off. Another fight. Then he realized he wasn't surrounded at all. How long had he been laying there?

Nail started the car and the shuddering vibrations brought Gohan to stare at the namek. When he had sat down in the car?

"Hopefully this will be enough for you." Nail said pulling the car out onto the road and they chugged along at an even pace.

"Why do they call me _egg-cracker?_ " he found himself saying.

Nail's jaw tightened, and Gohan stared at him, his body swaying with every rock and jolt of the car. This road had a lot of potholes. He usually drove in the middle of the road to make the ride smoother for Mr. Piccolo.

"Its a slur. Meant for people who have... slept with namekians."

Gohan nodded, unable to look away from Nail on their drive. He thought of the days after Mr. Piccolo being shot and how he slept at his bedside. How he sometimes fell asleep at his knee while they read later in the evenings. He wondered how the saiyans knew about those times. He didn't understand why they seemed so against such an innocent act.

"You mean sex." Gohan whispered as the car came to a stop. He thought they were at least half an hour away from home. It had only been a few minutes drive... then he frowned. How hard had that saiyan hit him?

Nail frowned, "Yes."

"But I haven't slept with anyone."

Nail exhaled, eyes dropping to the steering wheel, thumb tapping the metal, and he gave Gohan a sad look. "In a manner of speaking." He said and suddenly was out of the car, shutting the door behind him.

Gohan blinked his remaining eye several times. He was so tired.

"Come along then. I'll wake Launch and she can get you a good meal. Then I want you to stay up and clean the dishes for her. Understood?"

"I don't want to eat. I'm tired."

"You are not going to be sleeping tonight."

"But Nail..."

"I will not have you slipping into a coma." Nail hissed.

Gohan pouted, then realized Nail was standing on his side of the car with the door open. Maybe he was right.

He followed Nail inside, keeping a hand on the namek's elbow.

He tried really hard not to look at the closed doors of Mr. Piccolo's office.

As Launch talked to him while he ate, he remembered looking. 

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Nail stepped into Piccolo's office late that night, worried when he hadn't found his Don in his room, and found himself worrying for another reason entirely. Piccolo sat at his desk, unmoving, shoulders slumped, and antennae draped across his cheeks. Stepping cautious with shortened steps, Nail's nostrils widened at the sent of dried blood. He stared for some time, heart racing, his own blood cold. He didn't want to think the worse. This was Piccolo - he could not have been so distraught as to...

Piccolo's head rose then turned away. Nail saw his jaw shift and tighten with a line of light from dying embers of the fire. Exhaling, tension slipping away, Nail bolstered his nerves with a deep breath, and crossed the room.

"Sitting alone in the dark? Its bad for your eyes." Nail pulled the cord to his desk lamp. Smears of dark purple blood wiped across the surface like a child's painting. Nail studied the scene, tracking the trail from the center of his desk, around the corner, the hint of bloodied fingerprints on the window pane, then to his chair. Flakes of dried blood coated the arms of the chair, and gripping them still, Piccolo's knuckles white.

Shaking his head, Nail moved around the mess and knelt beside his Don's chair, none to gently prying his hands from his chair, and he turned his palms up, studying the wounds.

He left, retrieving the medical bag he had his half-brother, Dende, make for him, and returned, kneeling by his Don's chair, and cleaning his hands. He took his time, spreading first iodine then the salves Dende mixed together to aid their natural healing process. He finished wrapping one hand, moving onto the next when Piccolo's voice broke the silence. Gravel and tar in his throat.

"I didn't mean-"

"You don't have to explain anything." Nail interrupted, smoothing his thumb over the nail marks in his palms checking to see if they still bled or were already healing over before he spread the salve.

"Gohan-"

Nail pulled his hands back as if burnt, his throat tight. It was unfair really, watching two fools dance around each other, unable to realize the other was staring back.

And neither one noticed him, alone in a corner, never once looking away.

It took him a moment to push past his own feelings. Because this wasn't about him.

Taking Piccolo's hand once more, Nail stared at his fingers and only the bandages as he wound them around and under, tying it off with efficiency.

"I'll do my best." Nail whispered.

He tried not to look, he didn't want to raise his eyes and meet his Don's. It hurt too much. But like a moth to a flame, he found himself staring back at him - and he wasn't certain he looked collected or calm. He certainly didn't feel that way. His Don looked wrecked, drawn and lost, and Nail knew there was nothing he could do to fix it.

He stood, bag in hand, and strode across his office, "Don't stay up too late. You need your rest."

He closed the door with a final click between them.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Vegeta sat in his study till after midnight, his mind jogging along with theories and trying to work out the riddles before dawn. He felt slender arms slide around his shoulders and soft lips brush over his cheek with a sleepy hum.

"You should be in my bed, not down here in the cold." Bulma whispered in his ear.

Vegeta grunted and waved a dismissive hand. He hadn't realized the fire had gone out. "This entire situation has me frustrated."

"Of course it does. You hate not being in control." She huffed and slid onto his lap.

He regarded the human, raising a brow at her. She raised one right back at him, daring him to stand up and dump her on the floor.

He didn't.

"You should get some sleep. You might see something in the morning you can't right now because you are run ragged." She poked him in the shoulder, cajoling him to bristle, his tail flicking the air against his consent. Only the human female had ever been the one to do that to him.

"Is that a suggestion or an order?"

Her lips curled, a spark of light in her lovely eyes that made his belly flip - though he would never let her know that. She shifted above him, straddling his hips and tilting her head. Her short cropped hair at her jaw, curled along her cheek just so from having slept for several hours now. He reached up to brush a strand out of her eyes. "Oh, most certainly an order. I know you, Mr. All Powerful Don of the Saiyans. If I don't force you to obey me, you would run on empty." She teased.

Vegeta grunted, distracted for a moment as he ran his hands over her hips, his eyes dipping down between the gap in her nightgown.

She kissed his brow then, gentle, unhurried, the complete opposite of how she presented herself. She cupped his face and lifted his eyes to hers, holding his gaze.

Vegeta pulled his face from her hands and grunted, pinching his nose between his eyes. "Bulmaâ€¦"

"Don't Bulma me, buster." She poked him in the shoulder. He glared at her on principal, not because it hurt. "It's time for bed. Or do I have to treat you like our son?"

He would never admit it aloud, but he liked it when she bossed him around. She challenged him in unique ways that made him feel alive.

She stared at him a moment, judging his silence, and with a nod, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Good. Now take me to bed. I have an early morning in the office and a fan belt to fix _before_ that. My father can't figure out if its really the fan belt or the motor that's causing the clanging and he wants my help, so I'm heading into the shop early."

"Mmm." Vegeta said, staring up at her, wondering at his little mechanic defying the human expectations of which jobs were appropriate for women, and dominating the field. His fingers dipped under the edge of her nightgown, trailing over bared flesh along her thigh. She raised a brow, and he returned the look with a curl of his lip.

He did take her to bed. Though he didn't apologize for the late night.

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

Nail stepped into his father's den late that night, past the third hour. Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, Nail made certain Gohan would not be left alone to sleep, and still obeyed his father's call. He bent to a knee, and bowed his head, "You summoned me, Lord Guru?"

Guru grunted, ignoring him. Nail resisted the urge to sigh and instead studied his half brother. Dende, now tall and lanky in the way only a teenager could be while still possessing the round face of a child. His smooth movements carried him back and forth through the room, but Nail could see the hesitations his brother made as he grew into his large hands and didn't know how to work them gracefully yet.

Dende offered him a smile, sheepish and proud, though extremely tired.

"Nail. I have a bitch of a itch on my left ass cheek." Guru stated, and left it at that. Nail's knuckles turned white.

Dende passed his tonic to their father, pouring a glass of whiskey to wash it down with.

"That will be all." Guru waved Dende away. The boy caught Nail's eye, holding his gaze for a moment too long, before he left with a bow and a soft click as he closed the door.

Raising his head, Nail waited as his father sipped his whiskey and gazed into the fire, a claw tapping the wooden arm of his chair.

The fire crackled, low and burning more with embers than flame. Nail rose and set several logs into the hearth, stoking the flames back to life.

"I have a proposition for you, Nail."

Nail placed the poker back on its stand and faced Guru, hands clasped behind him.

Guru tapped, finished his drink and set the dainty glass on the edge of the end table. "Many of my spies have been killed, and the ones that remain are too afraid to tell the truth to me. Me." He said that last word as if appalled that anyone could ever not find him terrifying. "Someone is here."

His brows rose, though he kept his face schooled enough to keep from outright gawking. "A third Don?"

A simple nod. "I do not know for certain, but that is what my instincts are telling me."

"I will find out who they are-"

"No. I require you to do something far more dangerous."

"Whatever it is, Lord Guru, I will do what you ask."

"Follow Cymbal, for I believe he is a traitor."

Nail studied his father, his fists dropping at his sides. He had never trusted Don Piccolo's half brother, but for Lord Guru to so openly accuse him; Nail returned to his place before his father, dropping to one knee, and head bowed. "All due respect, Lord Guru, to follow the Don's own brother-"

"My proposition to you; if you discover Cymbal is indeed a traitor and has designs against Piccolo and our Family; I will claim you as son and grant you all that comes with being one of my heirs;" his words paused, trailing off as Guru panted in his chair, "and... I will speak to Piccolo and convince him to take you as his _namollus_."

Nail's head snapped up, his throat tight and squeezing the words back down into his gut.

"I know more than you think I do. I see what you think you hide so well. Though the Don's eyes may wander to the exotic, he is still our Don. With troubled times fast approaching, the Don would do well to provide an heir."

"Lord Guru..."

"When I name you a legitimate heir and son under my name, you will no longer be my bastard and you will have status and title to offer Piccolo as more than just a bed warmer. Do what I say. Follow Cymbal and tell me who he is working for, and you, my son, will have inheritance and a name; and perhaps, even a powerful mate."

Words were lost to him, locked inside as his throat continued to refuse to open for him. He had refused to hope for such things. He had learned his place long ago. Though Lord Guru often called him son, he was illegitimate, born to some unknown namekian whore in one of the brothels his father visited often.

To be completely honest, Nail had no concrete proof Guru was his father. Guru had claimed him as his bastard son, telling no one; save Nail; that plausible doubt was there. The day the namekian whore had showed up on his doorstep, Guru had taken the egg into his home, allowing him to hatch and grow within his walls. But time and again he was reminded that he was not in name or title of Guru's ilk, having been born from other's lips. Half siblings looked down on him, used him as little more than servant or errand boy. He had grown into his role, using it to his advantage till the day he seized an opening and stood before a young Don Piccolo and pledged to serve him.

In service to another, it was all he knew. To be his own man, a namekian of means; he felt chains sleuthing off his shoulders and taking branded flesh with them. He didn't know if he could face the world without someone to report to at the end of each day, but Kami, he wanted to know what it was like.

To be given legal acknowledgment... Nail bowed his head, his knuckles turning white once again where he gripped his knee. "Lord Guru.."

"Go, Nail. Watch Cymbal, follow him, and protect our Don. Learn what there is, and I will do what I can on my part to persuade Piccolo to take you as his _namollus_."

"I do not feel comfortable manipulating Don Piccolo in such a manner. It is a grievous misuse of power-"

"I'm about to misuse my hand upside your head!"

He shut his mouth tight.

"Do not argue my gifts to you. Though you are little more than the dirt under my nails right now, you have served me well, and if I give you only one gift in your lifetime, you will take my name graciously and with full knowledge that you will no longer be beneath my other bastards."

Nail stared at his father, hearing him and reading between the lines. He dropped to both knees then and bowed forward, his throat bobbing beneath his _kava_. "Thank you, Lord Guru. I did not mean to insult. The magnitude of your gift-"

"Cut the shit." Guru coughed, his whole body shaking with each powerful hack that reverberated through his entire body.

Nail rose and poured a glass of water for him, waiting patiently at his side.

He drank it, panting for breath, his head leaned back and eyes closed. He reached for him and Nail took to one knee, bowing his head and staring at the thick, carved legs of his father's chair. Guru placed his hand atop his head, his palm large and warm. Nail peeked up at the namekian and met his father's eyes.

"You are my only son worth claiming."

Nail closed his eyes and soaked in the warm gesture of family. "You're too kind; father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah... everyone is either pissed at each other, or hurt. :/ yay...
> 
> Maybe that's why Chapter 15 hated me so much.
> 
> I seriously hate this number within the story thus far. I've re-written Chapter 15 over 15 times. I wanted to pull my own face off because I was getting ready to post this on Monday... and while editing it, I realized it wasn't flowing, it wasn't working, and I was about ready to scream because I had that sinking realization that I needed to move it and re-write this chapter AGAIN. *sigh* luckily I only had to re-write about 4,000 words of it. but still. I'm ready to be done with this chapter and move on to the other original chapter 15's (in some way shape or form) for the next 7 chapters. . *wipes hands clean of this chapter* I don't ever have to touch this again. Gohan yelled at Piccolo, and not only that, but went back to the brothel, and he is now participating in street fights... this chapter has done its job!
> 
> And that ending, with Nail, that was another scene I've had written almost from the beginning. I love this moment Nail has with his father. love it so much.
> 
> Just as kava has a meaning in the namekian language, I created the term namollus - a term to mean mate and partner, on a much more powerful, and spiritual, level. Piccolo by all rights could just produce an heir himself and that is legitimate and by all means acceptable in namekian society - but to dangle this in front of Nail... its just Guru being Guru and trying to manipulate the situation.
> 
> And I also wanted to show Nail for once having a self-motivated desire for himself that wasn't noble or selfless. He has desires just as much as the others... his greatest wish just happens to center around a namek he is very much in love with. Nail and I share this unrequited love experience... just hoping the person notices... but not really ever expecting it either. So I feel for Nail. I couldn't help but develop this relationship more after Nail stood in front of Piccolo in like, what, chapter 3? That was the second I knew Nail was going to fall in love with Piccolo. So this is Nail... scared to hope, yet hoping his father could possibly talk Piccolo into allowing him to be his namollus and be the namek to carry his heirs. *sniffles* I want Nail happy too~
> 
> (Plus, I dropped a ton of namekian culture in this chapter and I am super proud of what I have created thus far. its little things, but enough-so that you understand their race. love it~)
> 
> ~Melissa the Damgel

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Day in the Life of a Mafia Namekian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764694) by [Spacefille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacefille/pseuds/Spacefille)




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